


Of Banquets, Balls, and Ballads

by impalaloompa



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Boys In Love, Canon-Typical Violence, Curses, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Geraskier, Idiots in Love, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, M/M, Mind Control, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Smut, Wasn't sure how to tag that, deadly mind control, gods they are so sweet together I swear I'll get a cavity but I DONT CARE, let me know if I've missed anything, lots of people die quite awfully
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:33:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28030083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impalaloompa/pseuds/impalaloompa
Summary: The Witcher sighed, shifting slightly, being careful not to disturb his bard, and stared up at the ceiling, trying to figure out what the hell he was going to do about this magic problem, if it even was a problem, but something in his gut told him to be careful, to be cautious. He flicked his eyes to the man he loved, safe and asleep in his arms. After all, he thought to himself, he had so much to lose.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 58
Kudos: 120





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys so I'm currently ignoring all my other wips I should be working on to give you this instead. Comments and feedback are always greatly appreciated!!

Lord Arleth Pyrene, fourth Baron of Alderfell, wanted to throw a week-long celebration for his daughter’s engagement to a neighbouring Earl’s son.

A festival with fine foods and lavish entertainment to take over the town during the days, and each evening at the manor would be hosted an exquisite banquet followed by a ball for nobles far and wide.

When Jaskier had received an invitation to perform for the Baron’s elite guests, the excitement in his face had Geralt conceding almost immediately.

“Anyone who is anyone in Nazair will attend,” the bard had gushed, stuffing things back into his pack as they prepared to set off, “I’ll have to put together a new set. Something beautiful and elegant, but fun as well. Something that excites and delights and-”

Geralt just listened with a fond smile. 

Spending a week in the company of nobility was definitely not his idea of a good time, but who was he to deny his bard this rare opportunity. Besides, it paid handsomely, and the Baron had offered them accommodation in his manor house as part of Jaskier’s payment. 

Geralt knew that the presence of a Witcher would intrigue the stuffy nobles, who secretly longed for the adventure court life denied them. He was terrible at small talk, and Jaskier told the stories of his hunts far better than he ever could, but he would humour them. For Jaskier. 

It wouldn’t be all bad. If he was lucky, some of the townsfolk might have a contract or two for him. He could eat his fill without worrying about coin. He would get to watch Jaskier perform in a fancy great hall, enthralling his audience with his masterful skill. And then, he would get to make love to his bard amongst fine silks and throws on a soft mattress with feather pillows. He could think of worse ways to spend a week. 

Jaskier spent most of the journey composing and organising several different sets that he could cycle through. He asked for Geralt’s opinions, as he always did, even though the Witcher insisted he knew nothing about music.

“Your ear is the only one I trust my dear Witcher. Common folk are fickle, nobility are often blasé, and fellow musicians will say what they think you want to hear and then steal your material. You say you know nothing about music, but a song hasn’t failed me yet if it gets your approval,” Jaskier chirped, pausing in his lute playing long enough to glance up at Geralt astride his chestnut mare.

A flutter curled through Geralt’s gut, the way it always did when fixed under those bright blue eyes. Jaskier’s smile twitched into a smirk as he picked up on the subtle shift in the Witcher’s expression, then continued on weaving the morning into song.

Geralt hadn’t meant to fall in love with Jaskier. He didn’t even know he was capable of love until one day the realisation punched through him with enough force to knock the breath from him. He loved Jaskier. He was in love with his best friend. And it thrilled him and terrified him in equal measure. In the months that followed, the dangers of a life on the Path had never seemed more real now that he had the bard constantly by his side. The thought of losing him made Geralt feel sick to the stomach. More than once he had tried to convince Jaskier to leave him, that he would have a better life, a life he deserved, far away from the Witcher and the monsters he hunted. But Jaskier was stubborn and insisted that he wasn’t going anywhere. Then, in the heat of an argument about it all, Jaskier had blurted out his feelings for Geralt. The devastation and embarrassment that burned in his face after made Geralt’s stoic heart ache. He pulled Jaskier into a tight hug, practically being able to taste his confusion, and told Jaskier that he loved him too. The young man gazed at him with such a soft expression, such devotion, such elation, and he knew, in that moment, Jaskier was with him to the end. Whatever that end might be. He knew what Jaskier wanted. To grow old and to be held by his Witcher in his last moments, having lived a fulfilled, happy life. Ever the poet. Geralt tried not to think about how differently it could go.

Jaskier filled their days with lute playing right up until they were approaching the city gates set into defensive walls.

Alderfell was a huge sprawling estate blanketed in thick forest, its wealth rising from its trade in good quality timber and from the quarries that pocketed the land. The city, of the same name, exhibited this wealth in all its finery. Shining granite buildings embellished with marble, pillared entrances, shuttered windows, silver slate roofs that glimmered in the summer sun. The latticed grid of cobbled roads was smooth. The shop fronts were painted with bright, warm colours. The people adorned in silks and velvets. 

Jaskier’s eyes grew wide as they navigated the packed streets. Geralt had dismounted Roach and was tugging her along, grunting every time she stopped to try and investigate the pockets of a passing gentleman, or tried to pinch the flowers from a lady’s hat. 

Bunting criss-crossed the street above them, and the sound of gaudy music filled the air, the festival already in full swing. Musicians on every street corner, dancers in the market square. Jugglers and acrobats patrolling the main thoroughfare. Mime artists, puppeteers, painters, illusionists, acting troupes, and row upon row of food marques, skill games, beer tents, trinket stalls. It was an explosion of colour and sound and scents. 

Jaskier thrummed with excitement and Geralt took his hand as they continued through the crammed streets towards the Baron’s manor. The bard glanced at their laced fingers, then up at Geralt, blue meeting amber, and Geralt quirked him a shy smile. Public displays of affection were rare from the Witcher and Jaskier cracked a beaming grin, leaning into Geralt slightly as he squeezed his hand.

The warmth of those lute-calloused fingers curled into his own was grounding. Geralt’s senses were being bombarded from all sides and it was quickly becoming too much. The chatter, the music, the laughter and shouting. The rattle of cartwheels on the cobbled street. The braying of a stubborn mule as it refused to move for its red-faced owner. The strong smell of sweat, horse, ladies’ perfume, freshly baked bread, smoked pork, ale, spices, incense, all swirling thickly in the air and becoming difficult to distinguish one from the other. 

Jaskier could feel his tension in their joined hands and picked up the pace, as best he could in the busy streets.

“You okay?” he asked, close enough to Geralt to avoid having to shout.

“How far to the manor?” the Witcher deflected, jaw clenching.

Before Jaskier could make a guess, they rounded a corner and there it was. The Baron’s manor house.

A white, four story building clad in ivy, red tiled roof, turrets at each of the four corners, sitting in the middle of a compact, lush green lawn and surrounded by a high iron fence. A small stable caressed the side of the building, the drive winding round to meet it, and two guards stood like statues either side of the gate. 

“It’s subtle at least,” Jaskier said with an air of nonchalance.

“Hm,” Geralt grunted.

“Come on Witcher,” the bard hummed, tugging Geralt’s hand and leading him over to the guards.

“And you are?” one of the guards asked, not even looking at them as they approached, sounding completely bored.

“Jaskier, the bard, and Geralt of Rivia, the White Wolf. We’ve been invited by the Baron himself,” Jaskier puffed up importantly.

Not strictly true, Geralt thought to himself with a wry smile, the Baron probably isn’t expecting a Witcher.

The guard who had spoken before dragged his eyes slowly over the pair, pausing to gawk slightly at Geralt’s strange eyes, their interwound fingers, then sighed loudly through his nose. 

“Go on,” he jerked his head towards the house, “The stable master will take your horse.”

“Thank you kindly,” Jaskier would have given him a dramatic bow if Geralt hadn’t nudged him forwards. 

As they approached the manor, a smartly dress servant bundled from the main entrance and greeted them with a polite nod. 

“We are-“ started Jaskier.

“Master Jaskier and Master Geralt, yes sirs, there is only one bard who travels the continent on the arm of a Witcher. I am Ludvic. The Baron is most pleased you could make it. Please, bring your horse to the stables and I will show you to your rooms. The Baron will make your acquaintance along with the other musicians in a few hours. Until then, myself and the other servants are at your service,” the man rattled off, his accent clipped and tight, typical of Nazair.

“Other musicians?” Jaskier’s face fell slightly.

“Indeed sir. Now, if you please,” Ludvic indicated the stables with a sweep of his arm.

Jaskier scowled as he tromped after Geralt, the Witcher mumbling softly to Roach as he handed her over to the stable master. He removed their packs and took what he needed from her saddle bags, giving her a gentle pat as the squat man lead her away.

“Worry none, Master Witcher,” the stable master smiled, “She’ll be well looked after. Nothing but the finest hay, and oats, if you please sir.”

Geralt grunted his approval, arms folded over his chest. Roach blinked at him and swished her tail. Geralt let out a sigh. Slowly, he turned to face Jaskier.

The bard was kicking a clump of straw, leaning against the stable door, looking rather put out.

Geralt rubbed lightly at his chin. “Jaskier-”

“No, it’s good. It’s fine Geralt. Completely fine. It’s a big event. A whole week of performing. Of course I wouldn’t be the only bard the Baron would hire. I understand and I’m okay with it,” Jaskier took a huge, dramatic intake of breath.

“That’s… very mature of you,” Geralt mused.

“Oh, shut up Geralt,” the bard pouted, hands on hips.

Geralt closed the space between them in one long stride, tilted Jaskier’s chin up with gentle fingers, and pressed a warm kiss to his lips. Jaskier melted against him, his annoyance fizzling out as Geralt caressed his cheek and tucked an arm around his waist, pulling him closer. The soft noise that rose in Jaskier’s throat sent sparks of warmth prickling across Geralt’s skin and he broke the kiss so that he could nuzzle into Jaskier’s neck.

“Come on,” he grumbled, “Let’s get back to that servant.”

Ludvic was waiting for them by the main entrance and he gave them a curt bow before leading them inside the manor house. 

The man spoke as quickly as he walked, pointing out the great hall, going on about the history of the house and the Pyrene family as he took them up a grand mahogany staircase and along a corridor with a red velvet carpet, oil paintings lining the walls. 

Geralt wasn’t really paying attention to the servant. He was too busy feeling incredibly out of place, like he always did when Jaskier brought him to courtly events. He was once again reminded that his bard was actually a noble by birth, and even though Jaskier had turned his back on it all and chosen his path in life, he slipped so easily into the finery and grandiose, he knew how to look like he belonged. 

“And here are your rooms,” Ludvic halted abruptly and Geralt had to catch Jaskier by the shoulder to stop the bard crashing into him, “Master Jaskier on the left, Master Geralt opposite. I’ll leave you to get settled and rest. I imagine you’ve had a long journey. Dania will be along to bring you before the Baron in due course.”

Before either of them could even form the thought to thank him, Ludvic turned elegantly on one heel and marched back in the direction he had come.

Jaskier and Geralt shared a look, brows raised, then Jaskier flashed him a grin.

“So, my dear, yours or mine?” he waggled his eyebrows.

Geralt was standing closer to the room on the left so he shrugged and pushed the door open.

The bedchamber was modest in size, square, very eloquently decorated, with a dresser in one corner and a washstand with a basin and jug in the other. A large bay window looked out across the silver city, and under it, taking up most of the space in the room, was an extravagant bed. Polished oak bedframe, plush mattress, silk sheets, feather pillows.

“Right. Good. Yes, this will do very nicely,” Jaskier whistled through his teeth, propping his lute by the dresser, “Beats staying in a shabby tavern for a week, definitely.”

“And what’s wrong with a shabby tavern?” Geralt teased, dumping their packs and his swords by the door in favour of patrolling the room.

“Scratchy sheets,” Jaskier trailed his fingers along the lush bed covers, a rueful expression on his face.

“Rustic qualities,” Geralt glanced at the bard who pulled a face at him.

“Drafty,” Jaskier narrowed his eyes as Geralt stalked closer.

“Well ventilated,” the Witcher’s smile spread slowly, amber eyes dark with mischief.

“Watery stew.”

“Home cooking.”

“Shady patrons.”

“Interesting individuals.”

“Thin walls.”

“Hm.”

Jaskier yelped when Geralt sprang at him, wrapping him in his arms and wrestling him to the bed. They bounced on the impact, Jaskier’s breathless laughter harmonising Geralt’s deep chuckle.

“Well, that is a fair point bard,” Geralt hummed, bushing a lock of Jaskier’s hair behind his ear as they lay tangled together, “Having stone walls is a nice upgrade.”

“Might have to put them to the test later,” Jaskier shuffled closer to rub noses with the Witcher.

“Later?” Geralt scoffed.

Jaskier groaned, burying his face into the fancy silks.

“I would. I want to. It’s just… now I have to go through my sets again and change them up and rehearse them and…”

“You were counting on being the only bard here, I know. It’s okay,” Geralt sighed, brushing his thumb back and forth across Jaskier’s cheek, “But I’m holding you to later.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” Jaskier wiggled impossibly closer, blue eyes gazing softly into amber, “Although…”

“Although?”

Jaskier quirked a smile and captured Geralt’s mouth in a soft kiss. His hands came up to thread into Geralt’s hair and he pressed himself flush against the Witcher.

Geralt’s usually slow heartbeat picked up a pace as he pushed up, using the momentum to roll Jaskier onto his back and then leaning down to kiss him hard, one hand tucked against the bard’s jaw, the other propping his weight up on the bed.

Jaskier’s fingers curled tightly into his hair as he flicked his tongue against the bard’s lower lip and Jaskier let Geralt deepen the kiss with a stifled moan.

The young man tasted hot and sweet, and his scent was intoxicating. Orange blossom and sandalwood, lavender and fresh parchment, and then, the spike of his arousal. Geralt could hear the rapid pattering of Jaskier’s heart in his chest, could feel the heat rising from his skin as he kissed him with fervency. 

Heat curled low in Geralt’s gut, breathing heavily through his nose as their long, slow kisses sent his mind spiralling.

Jaskier’s hands slid down to clasp at the back of his neck, keeping him close as he let the Witcher devour him.

Geralt felt Jaskier tremble under him and he broke the kiss, pressing his forehead against Jaskier’s, panting as they just held onto each other for a moment.

“Later?” Geralt gruffed, voice slightly hoarse.

“Later,” Jaskier promised, blue eyes sparkling.

Geralt kissed his cheek, then his temple, then helped him to sit up. Jaskier was flushed, dishevelled, and his hair was a mess. There was a hazy smile on his lips as Geralt tried to bring some order back to his bard’s squint doublet and unruly locks. 

“What?” Geralt grunted, moving away to start organising their packs.

“I love you,” Jaskier blinked softly at him.

Geralt’s heart did a flip in his chest.

“And I love you,” he forced away the thick emotion that threatened to overwhelm him.

Jaskier sighed in contentment. “How lucky I am.”

There came a knock at the door about three hours later.

The sun was starting to dip behind the city skyline, casting Alderfell in glowing orange.

Jaskier spent the time mostly complaining about his sets, changed into a teal doublet with matching breeches and an embroidered white shirt, and continued his complaining.

Geralt had shirked his light leather armour and put on a fresh black shirt, tying his long hair back loosely so that it was off his face. Even though Jaskier tried his darndest to get Geralt to dress up for court performances, they both knew that this was as far as Geralt was willing to go. 

“Master Jaskier? Master Geralt?” came a female voice, “Are you both in there?”

“Yes ma’am,” Jaskier called back from his perch on the bed.

There came a flustered giggle, then, “I’m to take you to see the Baron, sirs.”

Jaskier fidgeted with his fingers and then grabbed his lute. Geralt caught his wrist as he passed him and brushed his lips against Jaskier’s knuckles. The young man’s breath hitched in his chest.

“Come on then bard,” Geralt let him go again and rose to follow him out of the bedchamber.

They were met with a round-faced, middle-aged woman whose kind eyes and broad smile had the Witcher instantly liking her.

“I knocked on the other door, sirs, but no one answered,” she said pleasantly, her gaze flicking back and forth between Geralt and Jaskier. 

“Two rooms were very generous of his good Lord, but we would have been fine with one, ma’am,” Jaskier beamed at her, unabashedly.

“Oh, please Master Jaskier. My name is Dania,” the serving woman giggled again and Geralt couldn’t tell if it was because of Jaskier’s pleasant formality, or from the fact that they were okay to share a room, “Please, if you would come with me.”

Jaskier grinned at Geralt as they followed Dania down the corridor and back towards the great hall. She chattered about the excitement the celebrations brought and how she didn’t mind the extra work, it kept her busy, and she’d rather be too busy than idle.

Geralt couldn’t help but smile as she talked, her enthusiasm and charm reminding him of a certain someone who had become uncharacteristically quiet. He knew Jaskier was still sore about not being the only bard performing for the Baron and his guests this week, but if silence was how Jaskier wanted to deal with it, he wasn’t going to ruin this unusual display of maturity and acceptance from the bard. This was a huge opportunity for Jaskier, and Geralt was proud that he wasn’t going to let this get in the way. 

The great hall was definitely that. The vast room with its high vaulted ceiling, wall length windows, and marble mantled hearth, was set up with three tables. Two long tables running the length of the hall, the third raised slightly on a dais at the far end, already dressed for the evening’s banquet. The finest silverware, silk napkins, polished candlesticks, elaborate floral centre pieces, ornate goblets, shining in the flickering light from the hearth and the torches bracketed at intervals along the walls.

The end of the hall closest to where they had entered was positioned a wooden platform, about a foot off the ground. The Baron stood on the platform. Surrounding him were four musicians, each with their own instruments. A flute, a fiddle, and two drums. One of the drummers also had a timbrel attached to his belt. 

Geralt felt rather than heard Jaskier’s sharp intake of breath and glanced at the bard as he arranged his features in a show of polite professionalism, then left Dania to go and introduce himself. Geralt nodded to the serving woman who bundled away, and leaned against the wall by the door, eyes trained on his bard, ears acutely tuned in to the conversation.

“My Lord Arleth,” Jaskier bowed low and deep as he stopped by the platform. 

The other musicians looked excited, if not slightly nervous to be in Jaskier’s presence. The Baron himself just gave him a warm smile.

“Welcome Jaskier. I’m so pleased you accepted my invitation,” the Baron dipped his head.

Lord Arleth was a portly gentleman with greying hair and a ruddy complexion. His expensive looking robe was maroon in colour, embroidered with gold thread and sequins that caught the light perfectly, making him sparkle. 

“I hope you found your accommodation to your liking?” he asked, tucking his arms behind his back.

“Yes, my Lord, thank you. I was just expressing my wonder at your generosity to your servant, Dania,” Jaskier gave him a dazzling smile and the Baron waved him off.

“Think nothing of it! I couldn’t have you staying somewhere in the city my boy. That simply would not do. I pride myself on hosting the best under my roof,” Lord Arleth boomed, “And of course, having the White Wolf with us will definitely liven up some interesting conversation.”

Jaskier glanced back at Geralt and gave him a smile.

“My Lord, I hope you don’t mind-”

“Not at all! Not at all. I think I would have been rather disappointed if you hadn’t brought your Witcher companion with you,” Lord Arleth spread his arms wide as he spoke, laughter bubbling in his chest, “I certainly know my daughter would have been. She loves all of your ballads and songs. That’s why I knew I must invite you to her engagement celebrations. She will be thrilled to meet you this evening at the banquet, her and her fiancé both. A fine young lad, and only the best for my daughter.” 

Again, Jaskier bowed deeply.

“Now,” the Baron clapped his hands together, “To business. I assume you already have your sets prepared for the week. I thought I’d give you time with your support before the banquet gets started. You know. Run them through the material and what you need them to do.”

“My support?” Jaskier’s voice went up an octave and Geralt felt his insides squirm with relief.

“Yes, of course. I shan’t take up more of your precious time. I shall leave you to it. The doors open for my guests within the hour. You’ll blow them away, I’m certain,” Lord Arleth stepped off the platform with a surprising nimbleness and nodded to Geralt as he left the hall.

Jaskier watched him leave with a gleam in his eyes. Geralt could feel the radiant energy pulsing off the bard in waves. 

Geralt chuckled as Jaskier wasted no time in arranging the other musicians on the platform and then breaking down his sets. It was clear these men were familiar with Jaskier’s work and they were able to compliment his music beautifully. 

They spent the better part of an hour rehearsing together, Geralt just watching from his place by the door. 

His entire body felt warm as his gaze followed Jaskier, loving every second of the bard’s renewed enthusiasm. Jaskier conducted and instructed the musicians expertly, and Geralt had never heard him play better than in those moments of rehearsal. He knew, deep in his gut, that this week would propel Jaskier’s fame through the continent even more so than his usual performances. The thought made Geralt giddy. Jaskier deserved this, and Geralt was more than content to just go along with him and enjoy the ride.

Geralt heard movement and conversation in the entrance hall. He sighed, knowing his peace was about to be shattered, and pushed himself away from the wall to join Jaskier by the platform.

The bard spotted him and Geralt’s heart skipped a beat. He looked so damn beautiful. Blue eyes bright, smile lighting up his entire face. Geralt could smell the anticipation on him and he jumped up onto the platform to wrap his bard in a tight embrace.

Jaskier curled into him, his laugh vibrating through his chest.

“My, my, dear Witcher. One could almost forget that you’re a big scary monster hunter,” he teased, leaning back to cup Geralt’s cheeks and press a warm kiss to his lips. 

“Only for you,” Geralt mumbled, and Jaskier’s expression softened. 

“Right. Good,” the bard hummed, stealing another quick kiss and then reluctantly prising himself away from Geralt.

“Support musicians?” Geralt cast an eye over Jaskier’s shoulder at the four men who were hovering awkwardly as they tried not to watch the explicit affection between their lead and the Witcher.

Jaskier grinned.

“This week just got a whole lot better,” he practically bounced on the spot. 

The first guests started to trickle into the great hall. Geralt grunted and leaped off the platform.

“Break a leg,” he glanced at his Bard.

“Don’t have too much fun without me,” Jaskier winked at him.

“Hm,” Geralt stalked away to a corner of the hall and Jaskier’s chuckle followed him.

As the hall slowly started to fill with Ladies adorned in elegant dresses and Lords in neat attire, merry lilting music rose up from the musicians on the platform. 

Geralt watched from the corner, picking up on snippets of conversation about uninteresting courtly matters or rushed gossip, musing at the way these nobles carried themselves and spoke about their trivial lives as if what they did was the most important thing in the world. Geralt knew that the farmer out in the field, or the blacksmith bent over the anvil contributed more than any of these stuffy, pompous nobles ever would. 

A tankard of ale was pressed into his hand by a bashful servant and Geralt took a deep drink gratefully. It wasn’t long before he was spotted and soon enough, he had a small crowd of nobles surrounding him, asking for tales of his adventures. 

His storytelling was stilted, and several times he became stuck for words, but his audience didn’t seem to mind, latching onto every detail he could give them.

“My Lord Arleth Pyrene, fourth Baron of Alderfell, his wife, Lady Mirruim, his daughter, Lady Vevira, and her fiancé, Lord Tallis Harlen, Earl of Copsbridge,” came a loud announcement. 

The music went quiet, and all eyes turned to the four people who came into the great hall.

Where Lord Arleth was wide and broad, Lady Mirruim was tall and elegant, moving across the flagstone floor on her husband’s arm as if she were floating. Long black hair done in a simple braid over her shoulder, delicate features contrasting with sharp, intelligent eyes that scanned her guests. Lady Vevira, a silhouette of her mother, was just as graceful as she followed her parents up to the high table. On her arm strode a strapping young man, all blond hair and blue eyes and three-day stubble that accentuated his strong jaw. 

The four settled behind the high table, the Baron remaining standing while his wife, daughter and son-in-law-to-be took their seats. 

“Good evening,” Lord Arleth boomed, “and welcome to the first evening in a week of celebrations honouring my daughter and her new fiancé.”

A swell of clapping rippled around the hall and when the Baron held his hand up, it stopped almost immediately.

“I’m sure many of you enjoyed the festival in the town today, but this banquet and ball promise to be an event that you will not soon forget. Tonight, and every night this week, we are accompanied by some very talented musicians, led by none other than the great Jaskier, bard companion of the White Wolf.”

There were gasps of excitement as the attention turned to Jaskier. The bard gave them a deep bow, smile wide.

Geralt saw Lady Vevira clasp her hands to her chest, talking quickly with Lord Tallis, her eyes dancing with titillation. 

“I am as eager to get to the dancing and drinking as the rest of you,” the Baron continued, “But first we feast. So, I would ask you all to raise your glass in a toast with me.”

A wave of goblets and tankards were held aloft, and Geralt lifted his tankard to join them.

“My dearest daughter, and her groom to be. May your love carry you through. May your hearts keep you true. To Vevira and Tallis.”

“Vevira and Tallis,” echoed the guests.

As the nobles drank in unison, Jaskier started up again and the hall was quickly filled with music and chatter.

The guests started to find places at the tables and a string of servants funnelled food out from the kitchen. Platters of smoked meats and hard cheeses, soft breads and roast pork, chorines of spiced cabbage and honey glazed carrots, buttered potatoes and creamed spinach. The finest wines from Toussaint. Ales and beers from Novigrad. 

Geralt could feel his stomach growling.

“Join us Witcher?” came a female’s call from the end of the table nearest Geralt.

Usually, in these situations, Geralt would grab a plate, fill it up, and continue his vigil in the corner, but he was going to be here for a week. Might as well properly enjoy it.

The Lady who had invited him over scooted along the bench to make room for him and Geralt joined them in their feasting.

Lady Ambre, he quickly learned was her name, was a duchess from Cidaris. She was a cousin of the Baron’s and was here with her husband, Lord Wenton. They were a well-matched couple from what Geralt could gather. Another Lord had introduced himself as Lord Genrdy, a Viscount from an estate a few miles away. He had grown up with Lord Tallis, and their family often did business together. A few more Lords and Ladies made his acquaintance, but he promptly forgot them all as he struggled to keep up with the conversation. 

It wasn’t any easier when talk turned to himself and his adventures. He found himself rambling on about Jaskier at one point and had to change the topic to a vampire hunt in Velen to avoid the questions he could see brewing in Lady Ambre’s mind. 

As the banquet came to an end and the tables were cleared, the Baron invited Jaskier to entertain them all with a few ballads whilst the tables were moved to the sides to create a dance floor.

Jaskier swallowed his mouthful of whatever he’d been eating, took a swig from a goblet and then, with a charming smile, launched into the song about the wraith Geralt had delt with in Kovir. It had been a pretty cut and dry hunt, but Jaskier’s embellished story turned it into a tragic romance where Geralt had reunited long lost lovers and their spirits moved on together in peace. True, in the sense that Geralt had trapped the wraith with a Yrden sign and then burned her bones along with the bones of the man she was betrothed to. 

The nobles ate up the fanciful version though, and Geralt couldn’t help but roll his eyes when Jaskier winked at him.

The bard finished with a flourish, and feigned humbleness at the round of applause, then threw himself into another ballad. As soon as he started singing, Geralt tensed. 

There was the faint tingle of magic in the air, his Witcher medallion was humming, the hairs on the nape of his neck standing on end. 

He glanced around, trying to pinpoint its origin but as far as he could tell, there wasn’t one singular source. It hung over the hall, barely noticeable, never increasing, just the same low-level static that made his teeth itch. 

Very slowly as to not draw attention to himself, Geralt stalked the perimeter of the hall, keeping one eye on Jaskier as he fell into the hunt.

There was nothing unusual. None of the nobles were magic wielders. They were all human, apart from one Lord whom he was certain had elven blood in his ancestry but didn’t know if the Lord was aware. There was no obvious cause for the magic. No clues as to why or what. Just the ever-present prickling along his skin as his insides clenched with worry.

All he knew was that it had started when Jaskier went into his second song, which was literally nothing to go on. If he had picked it up when Jaskier had first started singing, he would have something to tie it to, albeit having a connection to his bard was far from ideal. At least it would be somewhere to start. For now, he had nothing.

By the time he came back to his original corner, the tables had been cleared and Jaskier was engaged in conversation with the Baron’s daughter.

Jaskier was being polite, jovial, but Geralt could see in the way he leaned away from her, she was slightly too close for comfort. 

He knew Jaskier could handle himself, but that didn’t stop that tug of want, to storm over and tell her to back off. 

Geralt swallowed the rush of emotion and tried to focus himself on the more pressing matter at hand. 

He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, letting the feel of the magic crawl over his skin, concentrating, reaching out and trying to… he wasn’t sure what he was trying to do, but the quivering of his medallion was driving him insane.

“You alright Witcher?” a voice shook him from his stupor and as he opened his eyes, he was met with the Baron.

“Hm,” Geralt grunted, not sure if he should tell the man yet. He wanted to know more about this magic before worrying the Baron with it. He wasn’t even sure if it posed a threat. 

“Your bard is very good,” Lord Arleth beamed at him, “Worth every penny I promised for his services.”

Geralt flicked his amber eyes to Jaskier who was playing a beautiful waltz for the guests to dance to. 

“My daughter is thrilled to have met him in person. I know she’s desperate to dance with him,” the Baron’s tone was light and friendly but Geralt couldn’t help the twist in his gut, “Though I’m not too sure what Lord Tallis will have to say about that.”

Lord Arleth gave a hearty laugh and Geralt forced a small smile.

“My Lord,” Geralt grumbled, trying to choose his words carefully, “I am a Witcher. It’s my job to hunt down monsters who threaten the lives of others. This celebration you’re holding will be known for miles around. Can you think of anything… or anyone, that might want to… tamper with it? Professional curiosity,” he added when the Baron’s brow furrowed.

“Professional curiosity,” Lord Arleth parroted with a frown, “Well, no. Not that I can think of. There might be ghoul or two in the eastern woods that could get disrupted by the travellers, but I don’t see why anyone would want to-”

“Of course. I understand. Sorry, my Lord. Force of habit,” Geralt cut in quickly.

Lord Arleth let out a chuckle, clapping him on the back.

“You can take the Witcher away from the job, but you can’t take the job from the Witcher,” he beamed.

“Hm.”

The Baron laughed again and bid Geralt a good evening, melting back into the throng of guests waiting for their turn on the dance floor. 

The hours ticked by and the unease in Geralt’s gut only grew. The magic in the air still swirling about him, still tantalising him with its mystery. 

Only when the guests started to retire and the musicians packed up for the night, did the magic finally dissipate. It left him feeling on edge, even though there seemed to be no apparent consequence of the presence of magic here this evening. 

Geralt wove his way through the straggling nobles until he reached Jaskier, ready to quiz him about the magic he had felt, but the look on Jaskier’s face stopped him.

The bard looked exhausted. 

Jaskier managed to give him a smile, and Geralt’s heart melted. He couldn’t pull Jaskier into his concerns right now. He’d tell him in the morning.

“Hey you,” Jaskier said through a yawn that shook his entire body, “Have a good time?”

“Hm,” Geralt reached for him, helping him down off the platform and tucking an arm around his waist.

“Gods. I’ve not played like that in ages. My fingers ache,” the bard half-whined through another yawn.

Geralt let go of the prickling concern for now. He had a bard to take care of.

“Come on,” he hummed fondly, guiding Jaskier out of the great hall and up the staircase to their bedchamber. 

Usually after a performance Jaskier was still buzzing with the adrenaline, but after hours and hours of playing and singing, he was completely done in. A tiny, selfish thought poked into Geralt’s brain. Guess there’ll be no ‘later’ then huh? but he dismissed it quickly. 

He sat Jaskier on the bed, taking his lute and laying it on the dresser, helping him with his boots and doublet jacket, struggling to get him out of his breeches, Jaskier insisted that he was helping but he really was not, so that the bard was now just in his shirt and smallclothes. 

Geralt perched on the bed next to Jaskier, smiling when hazy blue eyes met his amber, and he took Jaskier’s left hand. Slowly, he started massaging warm circles into his fingers, starting at the knuckle and then working his way up each digit until he could feel the tightness in the muscles release. Jaskier’s entire body shuddered and as Geralt repeated the rhythmic massaging, he let his head fall onto the Witcher’s shoulder. They were quiet for a moment as Geralt worked, switching hands and back again a few times. Once Geralt was happy that Jaskier was out of pain, he curled his arms around him and held him close.

“Thank you,” Jaskier whispered sleepily. 

Geralt hummed, the vibrations deep in his chest.

He pressed a soft kiss to Jaskier’s temple and released the bard to discard his pants and boots, then pulled Jaskier into him as he lay down on the bed.

Geralt arranged the covers over them as the bard curled up into his warmth, nose buried in his neck, and Geralt carded his fingers through Jaskier’s hair. He listened as Jaskier’s breathing slowed and his heartbeat evened out, continuing to stroke his hair long after the young man fell asleep.

The Witcher sighed, shifting slightly, being careful not to disturb his bard, and stared up at the ceiling, trying to figure out what the hell he was going to do about this magic problem, if it even was a problem, but something in his gut told him to be careful, to be cautious. He flicked his eyes to the man he loved, safe and asleep in his arms. After all, he thought to himself, he had so much to lose.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments and feedback butter my biscuits :)

Shafts of sunlight filtered through the window, casting the bedchamber in gold, finally creeping onto the Witcher and stirring him from his sleep.

Geralt scrunched his nose against the harsh light and grumbled, pressing his face back into the soft pillow. His body still felt heavy with sleep and it was a huge effort to shift back into the warmth of the sheets. 

“Morning, dear Witcher,” came a lilting voice that echoed of a smile. 

Geralt cracked open one eye to see Jaskier perched on the end of the bed, glancing at him over his shoulder, notebook open in his lap and his quill propped on one knee. Jaskier’s smile was soft, his eyes sparkling in the sunlight.

The Witcher’s heart fluttered. 

Geralt pushed himself up so that he was sitting as Jaskier turned his attention back to his notebook, the scratching of his quill filling the room. Even though Geralt couldn’t see his face, he knew that Jaskier’s tongue was poking out as he concentrated.

He just sat for a moment, watching Jaskier work. Watching the tiny shift in his shirt material as he moved his hand across the page. Watching the way he tilted his head when lost in thought. Watching how he fidgeted with his fingers when trying to think of a word. 

As wakefulness took its hold, Geralt let out a sigh, rubbed his face in his hands, felt the concern that had followed him into sleep tighten in his gut. 

He slid out of the covers and moved to settle behind his bard, seeking reassurance. His legs came to hang over the edge of the bed, bracketing Jaskier’s. He chest pressed flush to Jaskier’s back. His arms looping around Jaskier’s waist. His chin coming to rest on Jaskier’s shoulder. 

Jaskier closed his notebook, putting it and his quill to one side, and leaned back into Geralt, turning his head to brush a feather light kiss to Geralt’s cheek.

“Jaskier…” Geralt wondered where to start.

“Not yet.”

“Hm?”

“Whatever’s worrying you. Don’t tell me yet. I want to enjoy this while it lasts,” Jaskier hummed softly. 

“How did-”

“I know you, Geralt. You were restless last night. Usually, you sleep like a log, so I know something is bothering you,” the bard blinked slowly at him, expression tainted with the ghost of concern.

“Hm,” the Witcher brought one hand up to stroke lightly down Jaskier’s face. He felt the young man quiver under his touch. 

“But,” Jaskier darted his tongue across his lower lip, trying to keep his voice steady as those amber eyes gazed into his soul, “let’s pretend, just for a little while, that nothing’s the matter, and that this isn’t about to turn into some sort of monster-hunt-shit-show, the way all of our non-monster adventures seem to go.” 

“Hm,” Geralt’s thumb traced the outline of Jaskier’s jaw, his fingers resting against his cheek. He could hear the elevation in the bard’s pulse, the hitch in his breathing.

“Everything is completely normal and wonderful and-”

“Jaskier. Stop talking,” Geralt grunted and he heard the bard’s mouth click shut, those blue eyes wide and bright as Geralt’s fingers left his face and splayed possessively just under his collar bone.

The Witcher could feel the thrumming of Jaskier’s heart under his fingertips, and a flare of heat pooled low in his gut, the same way it always did when he realised that Jaskier was excited. For him. For his kiss and his touch and his love.

Jaskier shifted and Geralt let him turn around in his arms, kneeling precariously on the edge of the bed between the Witcher’s thighs, rising up slightly so that his chin was level with Geralt’s forehead. Geralt let his eyes flutter shut as warm hands cupped his cheeks, tilting his head back slightly, and soft lips caressed his own in a kiss so tender he wanted to scream. 

His hands planted themselves on Jaskier’s hips as the bard pressed kiss after kiss to his mouth. The soft noises falling from Jaskier were lost in Geralt’s low moan and the bard smirked.

Geralt leaned back, pulling Jaskier with him until the young man was straddling his waist. Jaskier let out a breathless laugh when Geralt took generous handfuls of his ass. 

The bard leaned down over him, hands fisting in the sheets either side of Geralt’s head as he crashed their mouths together in a bruising kiss. The Witcher parted his lips pliantly as Jaskier dipped his tongue between them, letting Jaskier deepen the kiss with a groan. 

His entire body was tingling, every nerve vibrating, every fibre of his being screaming with anticipation as the bard whined into his mouth.

Geralt trailed his hands up Jaskier’s sides, over his back, the material of the bard’s shirt bunching under his touch, until he wove his fingers into Jaskier’s hair and tugged. Jaskier gasped against his lips, and the sharp musk of his arousal filled Geralt’s senses.

He could feel the growing bulge in Jaskier’s smallclothes pressing into his lower stomach, and he was painfully aware of his own confined erection. 

Geralt canted his hips up, hissing at the delicious friction as his crotch brushed against Jaskier’s. The whimper that fell from his bard sent heat prickling along his skin. Geralt bucked up as Jaskier ground down, and Jaskier’s head fell into Geralt’s shoulder, his arms shaking with the effort to support his weight as he went dizzy with need.

Panting wetly into Geralt’s shirt, it was all Jaskier could do force coherent thought as Geralt’s hands clamped on his hips, keeping him still as the Witcher rutted up against him. 

Heat was building quickly between their bodies pressed flush together and Geralt turned his face into Jaskier’s neck so that he could nip at the base of the bard’s ear. 

Jaskier’s entire body jolted, tensing heavily on top of Geralt, gurning as his Witcher sucked a red mark into his sensitive skin.

Geralt rolled his hips, dragging his crotch against Jaskier’s again, and he thrilled at the dirty moan that tumbled from his bard.

He reached down between them, struggling to shift Jaskier’s smallclothes out of the way at the awkward angle. The bard lifted his hips slightly, tucking his knees under him, allowing Geralt to push the material down enough to release his cock and stroke him firmly. The noise that Jaskier made was downright sinful. 

The bard forced his head up from Geralt’s shoulder and captured the Witcher’s lips in a chaste kiss. Geralt arched into him, enjoying Jaskier’s hitched breathing as he twisted his wrist on an upstroke of his cock. 

Jaskier nipped and licked along Geralt’s jaw, one hand tucking around the back of the Witcher’s head, the other coming down to fumble with the front of Geralt’s smallclothes. 

His hand closed around Geralt’s cock and the Witcher growled low in his throat. 

Trying not to get lost in the fervency of the kiss, or the feeling of Jaskier’s rhythmic jerking of his cock, Geralt let go of Jaskier to take hold of his hand, guiding him over both their lengths, rocking his hips into the friction.

Jaskier shuddered, his hips bucking involuntary, and whimpering at the glide of his cock against Geralt’s, trapped under both their hands.

Geralt was getting close, the tight heat in his groin pooling in all the right places. He could feel Jaskier trembling above him, desperate for release, hot and slicked with sweat, breath sobbing in his chest as he buried his face in Geralt’s shoulder again.

Geralt loved taking Jaskier apart. Sometimes undoing him slowly, relishing in every thud of his heart, every noise that fell from him, every beg for mercy. Sometimes undoing him so quickly Jaskier didn’t have time to think before he was screaming and shuddering as pleasure overwhelmed him. 

“Geralt,” Jaskier panted, “Geralt, please. Please.”

Geralt tightened his grip around Jaskier’s hand, increasing the pressure on their cocks and thrust his hips up.

“Fuck,” Jaskier gasped into Geralt’s shoulder, his body tensing as he came.

Geralt’s own orgasm erupted though him and he grunted as his muscles spasmed, cock twitching against Jaskier’s, hips jittering as he spilled over both their hands. 

He continued to stroke them through their high until Jaskier could barely take the overstimulation any longer, squirming and shaking in Geralt’s merciless hold. When Geralt finally let them go, Jaskier collapsed on top of him and Geralt tucked his arms around him, holding him close. His vision stopped swimming, the thundering of blood in his ears easing, his chest heaving with each breath as the echoes of his orgasm still rippled through his body.

Geralt gently tipped Jaskier onto the bed next to him, bundling him close to his chest and stroking a hand through his hair as he shivered through the afterglow, holding him gently as he came back to himself. 

“You okay?” he rumbled.

Jaskier nodded into his neck, fingers curling into his shirt.

They were quiet for a moment, the heat between them lingering as they lay tangled together. Geralt let Jaskier doze, just listening to the steady thump of his heart and the long, slow pulls of breath that tickled his cheek, caressing the bard’s face lightly and enjoying the comforting weight of him in his arms. 

Geralt wondered absently if the jug on the washstand actually had any water in it, or if that was something he’d have to summon a servant for. They both definitely needed cleaning up after the mess they had just made. 

Eventually Jaskier stirred, and Geralt brought him back to wakefulness by pressing a hard kiss to his temple, then to his lips. 

Jaskier melted against him, smiling hazily in his bliss.

“Have I ever told you how beautiful your eyes are?” the bard hummed, blinking softly at his Witcher.

“On many, many occasions,” Geralt mused.

“I should dedicate a song to them. The honey eyes of the silver haired Witcher and his kind, kind soul,” Jaskier sighed dramatically.

“Or you could not do that,” Geralt frowned at him.

Jaskier chuckled, playing with the laces of Geralt’s shirt. Geralt kissed him, soft and slow, and Jaskier’s sighed happily as his hands came up to caress Geralt’s cheeks.

Geralt pressed his face into Jaskier’s hair and the bard sighed.

“Okay. So, what’s going on? What are you hunting?” Jaskier trailed his fingers along Geralt’s arm, “Is it vampires? A succubus? Please tell me it’s not a doppler…”

“It’s not a doppler,” Geralt grunted.

“Oh, good. Cause I remember the last one we came across was a right pain in-”

“I don’t know what it is, or if there is anything to hunt at all yet…” the Witcher frowned and Jaskier shifted so that he could look up at him.

“Talk to me Geralt,” he implored.

“Last night, whilst you were playing, I sensed something. There was magic in the air. I don’t know where it came from, or what was causing it. It wasn’t particularly strong, but it was constant. Until you stopped playing that is.”

“Have you considered that maybe my music has become so exceptional, that it’s taken on a magical quality all of its own?” mirth danced in Jaskier’s eyes.

“Hm.”

“All jokes aside Witcher, random magic is rarely a good thing,” Jaskier sat up on the bed, Geralt’s arms slipping from around him, and he glanced down at Geralt, “What are you going to do?”

Geralt curled his fingers into the hem of Jaskier’s shirt.

“Take a walk. Investigate the great hall again. Maybe ask around the servants if they’ve noticed anything strange.”

“Some good old detective work. I like it. Geralt and Jaskier. Jaskier and Geralt. Doing what they do best,” Jaskier beamed.

“What? Getting in my way and slowing me down?” Geralt smirked and Jaskier scowled at him, indignation twisting his young face.

“You are lucky that I am so in love with you. If I weren’t-”

“If you weren’t, I’d have a peaceful life,” Geralt nudged him playfully, rising up to trap Jaskier in a tight hug, “But you do love me, I am very lucky, and I am grateful for you every day.”

Jaskier, who had been trying to fight the Witcher off, stilled in his arms and leaned into Geralt’s chest, letting Geralt hold him close as he tucked his face into the crook of Geralt’s neck. 

“You’re an idiot, Geralt,” the bard mumbled.

The Witcher chuckled.

“Come on, bard. We’ve got things to do,” he pressed a hard kiss to Jaskier’s temple then released him, slipping off the bed to investigate the washstand. 

They both cleaned up and dressed, Jaskier in a turquoise doublet and matching breeches, Geralt in his usual black shirt and leather pants, and left the room.

Naturally, Geralt had his swords strapped to his back. Jaskier had elected to leave his lute behind, giving himself a break and saving himself for tonight, he said. Geralt knew it was more about temptation. Jaskier couldn’t help himself. He’d get the urge and just play for the pleasure of playing. Last night took a lot out of him, and if he were to survive a week of this, he’d have to let himself rest in-between performances. 

They made their way down the stairs, Jaskier using his knowledge of grand houses to navigate to the kitchen, and once they were full of fruit and sweet bread, Geralt took off towards the great hall.

As they approached the double doors, a delighted laugh rang out from the top of the grand staircase.

Geralt and Jaskier turned to see Lady Vevira and Lord Tallis making their way down to join them. 

“Oh, how wonderful. I had hoped to find you before we set off,” Lady Vevira smiled brightly as she approached, “I would be most pleased if you would accompany us to the festival, Master Jaskier.”

“Please do. You mustn’t deny us your company, you really mustn’t,” Lord Tallis spoke lightly, imploringly, but there was a strange look in his eyes as he regarded Jaskier, and Geralt had to wonder how he felt about his fiancé’s infatuation with the bard. 

He glanced at Jaskier who had dipped in a low bow, coming up with a wide smile.

“I would be honoured,” he said politely, “But my Witcher and I were going to-” 

“I’m sure he can spare you for a few hours, can’t you Master Geralt?” Lady Vevira gazed pleadingly at the Witcher, as if he had the option to refuse her.

“I’ll be fine. You should go,” Geralt turned to Jaskier who was keeping a very controlled pleasantness in his expression, but Geralt could feel that his bard would really rather not attend the festival on the arm of these nobles. 

“How wonderful,” Lady Vevira clapped her hands together, “Let us go then.”

“I’ll come and find you later,” Geralt promised Jaskier, and to make a point, he tucked a hand round the back of Jaskier’s neck and pulled him into a chaste kiss.

Jaskier smirked against his lips, and Geralt was aware of Lady Vevira turning away, her lip quivering with a pout. Lord Tallis just shook his head slightly.

Geralt parted from Jaskier, brushing his fingers lightly down his cheek, then stepped back, dipping his head towards the nobles to indicate they were free to leave with his bard. 

He watched them disappear through the main entrance and sighed. 

The great hall was practically glowing as sunlight spilled through its vast windows. The tables had already been set up for the evening’s banquet, looking as splendid as they did last night. 

Geralt paused in the doorway, trying to pick up any evidence of the magic he had felt, but there was nothing. Slowly, he stalked the hall. Around and in-between the tables, along the walls, down the middle, by the wooden platform. Not a single trace. 

He frowned.

“Master Geralt!” came a voice from the doorway.

Geralt glanced over his shoulder to see a young servant, maybe around Jaskier’s age, coming into the hall with his arms full of flowers. 

He had light blond hair, tucked behind his ears to keep it out of his eyes that were a deep brown in colour. The baron’s crest was embroidered into his tunic.

The servant dumped the flowers on the nearest table and scurried over to the Witcher, buzzing with excitement as he stooped in a bow.

“An honour to meet you, sir,” he grinned at Geralt, “I’ve heard all the songs your bard sings about you. Did you really challenge a werewolf to a match of gwent?”

Geralt gave him a nod and his entire face lit up.

That had definitely been one of his more interesting hunts. A werewolf had been terrorising a small village in Verden, demanding tribute from them for his protection. Rather than getting drawn into a fight, Geralt had negotiated with him for hours. The werewolf didn’t want to be cured. He didn’t want to give up his claim to the village. He didn’t want to fight the Witcher. Instead, Geralt had suggested they play a few rounds of cards. If the werewolf won, Geralt would just walk away. If Geralt won, the werewolf would leave and never come back. The gwent game had actually happened in a tavern when the werewolf was in human form, but Jaskier’s song had him fully turned. Jaskier’s song was also very witty and funny, but the actual game of gwent was brutally fast and played in frustrated silence. Geralt won and the werewolf refused to leave so, the Witcher had been left with no choice but to kill him. 

“I can’t believe I’m actually here talking to the famous White Wolf!” the servant practically bounced on the spot and Geralt was strikingly reminded of Jaskier.

“I didn’t catch your name,” the Witcher tilted his head slightly.

“Oh! Uh, I’m Tarrin, sir,” the servant beamed.

“Tarrin. You haven’t noticed anything… odd, or strange, lately have you? Anything out of the ordinary?”

“Can’t say that I have, sir. Unless you count the never-ending deliveries to the kitchen as unusual.”

“Hm,” Geralt grunted.

“Is there something going on? Are you hunting something?” Tarrin implored.

Geralt had the sudden realisation that everyone in the manor would now know he was asking questions like this as soon as the young servant left his company. Tarrin would undoubtedly tell everyone he came across and Geralt groaned inwardly. He’d rather not upset the Baron or make him suspicious, and he had to handle this carefully.

“I don’t know yet,” the Witcher hummed, “That is why it’s very important no one knows. There’s no point worrying everyone if it turns out to be nothing. But, if you do notice anything strange or unusual, you come straight to me. Understand?”

Tarrin nodded enthusiastically.

Geralt hoped that by giving the young man a role in his hunt, he would keep his mouth shut. 

“I’ll keep my eyes peeled, Master Geralt,” Tarrin promised with an earnest expression.

“Hm.”

Geralt gave him a curt nod and strode out of the great hall, very aware of the little gleeful clap Tarrin did when his back was turned.

He let his feet carry him across the entrance hall towards the doors on the opposite side, not really sure what he was going to do now. He didn’t want to have to wait until this evening to see if the magic would be present again. Snooping around the house would fill the time, but he knew deep in his gut that he wasn’t going to find anything.

Geralt closed his hand round the doorhandle and cracked the door open an inch, peering through the gap. The room beyond was a drawing room. Illuminated by the daylight, he could see leather armchairs and couches, bookshelves, oils paintings, a grand mahogany drinks cabinet, and another elaborate hearth.

“Can I help you Witcher?”

Geralt jumped and spun round, dropping his hands to his sides like a child caught somewhere they shouldn’t be, as Ludvic prowled down the stairs. 

“Ludvic,” Geralt quickly composed himself, “I was just looking for you.”

The servant’s lips formed a tight line and Geralt knew he’d been caught in a lie, but Ludvic sighed and nimbly stepped down the rest of the stairs to join him.

“And how may I be of service?”

“What can you tell me about these celebrations? The banquets and balls? Who organised them?” the Witcher tried a different approach with his questioning. 

“The Baron himself of course. He and Lord Tallis spent weeks planning the festival and making arrangements for guests and entertainment. Naturally, we servants did all the leg work,” Ludvic had a strange look in his eyes.

“It’s all a bit… extravagant, isn’t it? I mean, if Lord Arleth is willing to go to these lengths to celebrate his daughter’s engagement…” 

“My Lord assures that it is all absolutely necessary. He loves the Lady Vevira more than anything in the world and would move heaven and earth for her if he could.”

“Hm.”

“The best frocks, the best food, the best company… the best musicians,” there was something in Ludvic’s tone that Geralt couldn’t quite place, and an odd, cold feeling creeped through him. 

“Any mages attached to the Baron’s court?” he narrowed his amber eyes at the man.

“My Lord does not affiliate himself with mages,” Ludvic said sharply.

The uneasiness in Geralt’s gut was building.

“Is there anything else Master Geralt?” 

“No. Thanks,” Geralt turned towards the main doors, feeling Ludvic’s eyes boring into his back.

He left the manor house and took in a huge lungful of fresh air. 

Ludvic knew more than he was telling, of that Geralt was certain, but he didn’t want to push too hard too soon. 

The pointed comment about the best musicians had left a dryness in his mouth. It had sounded almost like… like a warning, and the overwhelming need to find Jaskier panged in his chest. He set off down the drive, trying to shake the feeling that somehow, whatever was going on here, it might include his bard. He was being paranoid. Just because most of their adventures together ended up with either himself or Jaskier in some sort of peril, didn’t mean that this one would. Surly they couldn’t be that unlucky? 

Tracking the bard’s scent was useless because the further into the bustling festival Geralt travelled, the faster it was swallowed up by the aromas of the festivities. 

People jostled him from all sides, and it was hard to pick out individuals in the sea of styled hair and fancy hats. 

He ducked down a side street to avoid a particularly packed crowd, following the clash of different styles of music, and emerged on the edge of the main square.

That’s when it hit him. A wall of buzzing static, the magic prickling along his skin and raising the hairs into gooseflesh. His Witcher medallion vibrated against his chest.

The air was thick with it, the intensity far stronger than the previous night. All around him, everywhere at once, making his lip curl. 

Geralt stumbled among the crowds and performing acts, turning wildly as his senses were overloaded, amber eyes wide. 

There were dancers and music troupes and jugglers and puppet shows. There was a man swallowing fire, a woman singing about the harvest, a gaggle of children creating human pyramids. There were stalls set up with vendors hollering about their wares, and hundreds of people milling about, drinking, eating, enjoying the celebrations. Through it all wove the magic, rising and pulsing like waves on a shore, consistent and prevalent and inescapable. 

Geralt paused a moment and closed his eyes, struggling to focus, trying to reorient himself. 

When he opened his eyes again, he scanned the various entertainers, and started to notice something. Even though they were in the middle of routines and sets, there were quite a few of the performers who looked… ill. Pale. Tired. Still doing their thing with energy and passion, as if they just couldn’t help themselves. Geralt would have thought that they looked hung over, but the way they were performing with relentless zeal had him thinking otherwise. 

He stalked through the crowds, watching the people, keeping an eye on the performers, travelling up and down the streets and seeing more of the same. Worn out looking performers who obviously didn’t know when to take a break, and the civilians who either didn’t notice, or didn’t care. 

A deep frown settled on his face. The magic still crackled around him, its origin still eluding him. It wasn’t coming from anyone, or anything, or anywhere in particular, it was just… everywhere, and he ground his teeth together.

A high-pitched laugh pulled him from his stupor, and he glanced around, his heart soaring in relief when his amber eyes settled on a familiar face. 

Jaskier was trapped between Lady Vevira, who had her arm looped with the bard’s, and Lord Tallis, who had a firm hand on Jaskier’s shoulder. They were chatting to a merchant with many beautiful trinkets on the stall in front of him, clearly trying to get Jaskier to sing for them. 

Geralt knew how much Jaskier hated being ‘shown off’ like some sort of performing pet when in the company of nobles, and he could see the rigid tension in the bard’s shoulders.

The Witcher’s gut knotted and he marched over to them to rescue his bard.

“Ah, the White Wolf!” the merchant delighted as he approached.

Lady Vevira spun round with a scowl, and Jaskier went limp with relief.

“Geralt. It’s so unbelievably good to see you,” the bard chirped, still penned in by the nobility either side of him.

“My Lady, my Lord, apologies, but I’m afraid I must steal Jaskier back. There is something incredibly important we must attend to,” Geralt kept his voice level.

“This has been such wonderful fun, and I have enjoyed spending time with you immensely Lady Vevira, but I-” Jaskier tried to slip from the nobles but Lord Tallis tightened his hand on Jaskier’s shoulder, stopping him from getting away.

The bard’s eyes blew wide with panic and Geralt bristled.

“Jaskier was invited here for my dearest Vevira,” Lord Tallis narrowed his eyes at Geralt, “I must insist he indulge us with his company for a few hours longer.”

“You have a whole week to get to know Jaskier,” Geralt grunted, forcing himself to refrain from grabbing the young Lord and giving him a good shake, “This is a matter regarding his performance this evening, and if you wish him to delight you all again as he did last night, you’ll let him come with me now.”

Lady Vevira sighed loudly.

“Very well, take him if you must, but we will finish our conversation later Jaskier,” she crooned.

Jaskier nodded to her. Lord Tallis released him.

The bard practically leaped over to Geralt’s side and without another word, the Witcher turned away and pulled Jaskier with him.

They wove through the crowds, the heavy cloud of magic not quite distracting him from Jaskier’s rapid heartbeat and shallow breathing.

He bundled the bard into a tight alley and tugged him along it until they were half hidden by the shadows. Geralt could feel his skin crawling, and not just because of the magic.

“You okay?” he rumbled, reaching for Jaskier and cupping his cheek gently, eyes flicking back and forth as he searched his face. 

Jaskier had leaned against the wall, a slight tremble in his hands. He pressed into Geralt’s touch, bright blue eyes meeting amber.

“Yeah. Thanks. I mean…” Jaskier swallowed thickly and Geralt gave him a moment to gather his thoughts, “Lady Vevira is lovely and all, but she is intense, Geralt. She likes my music but seems to think that means I belong to her or something. Lord Tallis just indulges her behaviour. They love each other madly, and he is very attentive to her every whim. If she says jump, I have to say how high, otherwise he gets very… I don’t know, but he scared me Geralt.”

“I’m sorry. I won’t leave you alone with them again,” Geralt brushed his thumb lightly back and forth across Jaskier’s cheek.

The bard just nodded, his hand coming up to cover Geralt’s against his face. 

His heart aching, Geralt leaned in to kiss him softly, and then pressed their foreheads together. Jaskier’s eyes fluttered shut as they stood quietly for a moment, the noise of the festival sounding far away. Geralt listened to Jaskier’s breathing even out and his pulse return to its usual steady rhythm.

Jaskier sighed, long and slow through his nose, then opened his eyes again as Geralt leaned back.

“So, have you managed to work out what’s going on?” the young man asked.

“No,” Geralt grit out, “but the magic, it’s here, now, all around us. You can’t feel it?”

Jaskier shook his head.

“I think it’s somehow connected to all the performances. I’ll know properly tonight at the banquet if that’s the case. Ludvic was being sketchy as fuck when I spoke to him, so I think he knows something more than he’s letting on.”

“Are we in danger?”

“I don’t know,” Geralt bit his lip in frustration.

“You’ll figure it out,” Jaskier smiled warmly at him, “You always do.”

“Hm.”

The bard laced his fingers with Geralt’s and brought their hands up to his mouth to he could press a delicate kiss to the back of Geralt’s knuckles. Geralt's heart did a flip in his chest. 

“Come on, dear Witcher. I think we should head back to the manor house. I don’t know about you, but I’m very done with this festival for today,” Jaskier pushed himself off the wall and tucked himself into Geralt’s side. 

The Witcher hummed in agreement. Geralt curled an arm around Jaskier’s waist, keeping him close as they left the alley, and navigated their way back through the crowds.

As they approached the gate to the manor, the magic in the air fizzled out around him and he sighed in relief.

They spent the rest of the afternoon in their bedchamber. Geralt whetting his blades, Jaskier alternating between writing in his notebook, tuning up his lute, and stretching out his fingers in preparation for the long night ahead of them. Geralt kept an eye on his bard for a while, glad he seemed to have recovered from his entanglement with nobility. Jaskier chattered away absently as was often his pleasure, occasionally getting a grunt or a ‘hm’ from the Witcher, every now and then contributing to the conversation with a comment or opinion. His mind wasn’t entirely focused on Jaskier or his busy hands. That worry and concern playing on the edges of his mind. 

As the sun started to dip behind the horizon, they made their way down to the great hall before the guests for the night’s banquet started arriving.

Geralt accompanied Jaskier to the wooden platform, then stilled when he cast his eyes over the support musicians. One of the drummers looked particularly run down. He was practically grey, his hands shook, but he insisted he was fine to play. Jaskier ran a hand through is hair and told the man he could sit out if he got any worse. The drummer assured him that wouldn’t happen.

The Witcher hovered close by as they started to rehearse, and almost immediately felt the tingle of magic in the air. It was very faint but unmistakable. 

“Stop. All of you stop,” he growled.

The musicians paused in their playing, Jaskier’s brow furrowed at the Witcher, and the magic dissipated.

“Play again,” Geralt demanded.

They did ad they were told and again, the magic filtered through the air.

“Stop,” the Witcher ground his teeth together.

“Geralt?” Jaskier put his lute down and reached for the Witcher but before he could say anything, the bustle of guests arriving at the great hall pulled their attention.

“Fuck,” Geralt cursed.

“Geralt, what-?”

“Just… just keep going. I need to talk to the Baron,” Geralt marched away from the platform, weaving between the guests to position himself by the door, ready for when the Baron came in. 

He kept one eye on Jaskier and his musicians, especially on the drummer, as they settled into their first set, the magic growing in intensity then levelling out to the same static he had felt the night before. His skin prickled uncomfortably, and he had stuffed his medallion into his pocket, trying to ignore the way he could still feel it humming against his thigh. 

Many of the guests spotted the Witcher as they trickled into the hall and he was finding it increasingly difficult to brush off their intrigue and conversation.

The herald approached the doors, ready to announce the hosts, and Geralt tried to force his way forwards, but he practically fell over a noble who was already drunk, and the Pyrene family was announced. 

“My Lord Arleth Pyrene, fourth Baron of Alderfell, his wife, Lady Mirruim, his daughter, Lady Vevira, and her fiancé, Lord Tallis Harlen, Earl of Copsbridge.”

“Fuck,” Geralt retreated back against the wall and stalked up the perimeter in time with the procession as they moved towards the high table. 

He hovered awkwardly, very aware that he was drawing attention to himself as the Baron’s speech dragged on, and once Lord Arleth sat, he went to approach the table – 

Only to be blocked by Ludvic. 

“Dammit man, I need to talk to the Baron,” Geralt hissed.

“Master Geralt,” Ludvic was stiff with tension, eyes dark, “You need to be careful.”

“What?” the Witcher stilled, icy foreboding coiling in his gut.

Ludvic cast his eyes back towards the high table, then his gaze settled on the musicians at the other end of the hall.

Geralt followed his gaze and felt his mouth go dry.

Jaskier was beaming as he played, some jaunty melody that was fast paced, designed to subtly encourage the guests to eat faster. His fingers flitted across the strings and he danced about, lost in the joy of playing. Behind him, his support complimented his music. Geralt felt his body thrumming as the magic in the air hummed about him. His eyes fell on the drummer and his already slow heart skipped a beat. The man was deathly pale, drenched in a cold sweat. He was shaking and swaying but he kept playing with the same manic energy Geralt had seen from the performers at the festival. 

“What the-?” he growled.

“Master Geralt,” Ludvic whispered harshly, “Grab your bard and get out of here. Stop him from playing and just go.”

Geralt turned to him but the servant had taken off, marching quickly away and disappearing through one of the servants’ doors.

Chest clenching, gut churning, Geralt’s feet started moving back down the length of the table, blood pounding in his ears, eyes fixed on Jaskier. Ludvic's words echoed in his head and he was filled with a sudden, crippling panic.

There was a clatter as the drummer dropped his instrument, then a yelp as he crashed heavily into Jaskier, knocking the bard off his feet and he fell off the platform, hitting the flagstone with a grunt. 

Lords and Ladies rose from their places in shock and Geralt had to push them out of his way so he could reach the musicians.

Jaskier scrambled to his feet, clutching his arm and staring wide eyed at the drummer convulsing on the slatted wood. 

Geralt caught Jaskier’s sleeve and hauled him back, putting himself between his bard and the man. 

“Geralt?” Jaskier choked.

The other musicians were cowering against the wall, and the nobility pressed backwards in a tight crowd, shock and fear evident in their whisperings and mutterings. 

“What’s going on?” came the Baron’s commanding shout.

The magic spiked, so intense that Geralt’s head pounded, then, as the drummer stilled, the magic faded completely.

No one moved for a moment.

Geralt could feel Jaskier’s fingers gripping tightly at the hem of his shirt, could hear his thundering heart, could smell the sour scent of his fear.

Eventually, the Witcher stalked closer, crouching next to the drummer and straining his hearing. 

Not a breath. Not a pulse.

Geralt dug his nails into his palms, insides squirming painfully. He lifted his gaze and met Jaskier’s wide blue eyes.

“He’s gone,” he grumbled, “He’s dead.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've packed quite a lot into this chapter. Enjoy.
> 
> Comments and feedback water my crops

The antechamber off the great hall looked more like a storage room than anything else. A half-way point between the hall and the kitchen so the servants wouldn’t have to go too far to keep the drink and entrées flowing. 

A rack of wine barrels inhabited the back wall, all expensive grapes from the finest wineries in Toussaint. A shelving unit of claret jugs and pitchers of varying design stood tall next to the barrels. The right wall had another rack but this one was crammed with kegs of ale and beer, most from the breweries of Novigrad, but the odd keg had the stamp of Kaedwen. Also along this wall sat shelves of dried fruits and meats, all neatly arranged in boxes. A square window cut into the left wall spilled new morning light into the small room, and under the window sat a long table. Usually, this table would be smothered in platters of fine nibbles for the guests, kept topped up by the kitchen, and easy for the servants to access. Right now, it was empty except for the body of the drummer, draped in a white sheet, and the hands of the Witcher, gripping so tightly to the table’s edge his knuckles turned white. 

Geralt stood rigidly, amber eyes fixed on the covered face of the drummer, trying to decide what to do. 

After the initial panic and commotion, the Baron had quickly dealt with his guests while his guards, closely followed by Geralt and Jaskier, brought the drummer into the antechamber. 

Geralt had studied the body meticulously. His conclusion for the cause of death only deepening the churning in his gut. 

The man, Farlen, Jaskier had informed him, almost looked as if something had drained the life from him as he literally played himself to death. Geralt ran through every creature he knew of that could be capable of such a thing, but in the back of his mind he was certain that this was the result of some sort of powerful spell. 

Jaskier had been fidgety and on edge, refusing to turn in for the night, and, around dawn, when one of the other musicians had come in to collect Farlen’s wedding ring, announcing that he was going to bring it to the drummer’s family and tell them what had happened, Jaskier insisted on accompanying him. 

Geralt had wrapped his bard in a tight embrace, not missing the way Jaskier quivered against him, and then resumed his vigil over Farlen once he was left alone. 

There were so many questions flitting about in his head, none of which he knew the answers to. But… there was someone who might be able to help him. 

Geralt grit his teeth together. He needed to talk to Ludvic. The servant was currently his only lead. 

The Witcher pushed himself away from the table and cast a last glance at the body of Farlen before leaving the antechamber. _I’ll work out what happened to you, and stop it happening to anyone else _, he promised.__

__Servants were bustling about the great hall, clearing the tables and preparing to set up for another night of feasting._ _

__Geralt groaned inwardly. Looks like he’d have to talk to Lord Arleth too. Of course the Baron would want to continue the celebrations, despite having a man die in front of him. Fucking nobles._ _

__He scanned the hall quickly but Ludvic wasn’t among the working servants. At the bottom of the hall by the double doors stood a small group of Lords and Ladies, but to Geralt’s chagrin, the Baron wasn’t one of them._ _

__Fuck. Now he had two people to track down._ _

__Deciding that stopping the celebrations was his higher priority considering the immediate threat to human life, Geralt took off down the great hall to talk to the nobles._ _

__Lady Vevira and Lord Tallis stood with Lady Ambre, her husband Lord Wenton, and Lord Gendry. There were two other Ladies Geralt didn’t recognise but assumed that they were also staying in the manor under Pyrene hospitality._ _

__Snippets of their conversation reached him as he approached, and he slowed slightly._ _

__“So, is there a date set for the wedding?” Lady Ambre chirped, arm looped with Lady Vevira’s._ _

__“Late Winter, to coincide with Yuletide,” Lord Tallis hummed._ _

__“Oh, how wonderful,” one of the other Ladies preened, “And then children I expect?”_ _

__“Yes. I can’t wait to be a mother,” Lady Vevira giggled._ _

__Lord Tallis smiled at the remark, but his eyes were dark._ _

__“You’ll have such beautiful children,” Lady Ambre sighed._ _

__Geralt narrowed his eyes at the tension in Lord Tallis’s jaw. Lord Gendry nudged him, and Lord Tallis shook himself. He whispered something quietly to Lord Gendry, and the young man nodded._ _

__None of the other nobles seemed to notice this exchange, all too busy cooing over Lady Vevira._ _

__Geralt announced himself by clearing his throat and pushed away the strange feeling building in his chest to feign polite charm, at least, that’s what he was going for, gods only knew if he was achieving it._ _

__“Master Geralt,” Lady Ambre greeted him with a smile._ _

__Now that he didn’t have Jaskier with him, Lady Vevira was studying him with interest, with an expression that almost looked like hunger. The fickleness of nobility never ceased to amaze him._ _

__“Can we help you, Witcher?” Lord Tallis asked bluntly, folding his arms across his chest._ _

__“I’m looking for the Baron, my Lord,” Geralt blinked slowly at him._ _

__“My father was with my mother in the upstairs lounge last I saw him,” Lady Vevira batted her lashes at him._ _

__“Thank you,” Geralt went to squeeze between the nobles so he could reach the exit, but Lady Vevira caught his arm._ _

__“Oh please tell us about one of your hunts? I would truly love it if you did,” she begged him, sounding incredibly childish and bratty, “Jaskier sings of them so wonderfully but I simply must hear one first-hand.”_ _

__“Uh,” Geralt suddenly felt very trapped, and hot under the expectant gazes of the nobles surrounding him._ _

__“Come on, Witcher,” Lord Tallis leered._ _

__Deep dislike for the man sparked through Geralt and his hands balled into fists._ _

__Before he could open his mouth, the main doors off the entrance hall banged open and Jaskier tumbled though them, red in the face, breathing hard, blue eyes wide._ _

__“Jaskier?” Geralt pushed passed the Lords and Ladies to catch his bard before his knees gave way, the stench of Jaskier’s fear overwhelming his senses._ _

__“Geralt! Thank the gods,” Jaskier clung to his arms, panting between words, “The festival-the performers-Geralt, they’re-they’re dying!”_ _

__“What?” Geralt’s blood ran cold._ _

__“It’s-it’s just like Farlen. Just like-fuck, Geralt,” the bard shuddered._ _

__Heart in his throat, Geralt grabbed Jaskier’s hand and yanked him with him as he sprinted from the manor house. Lady Vevira’s indignant call rang out after them as they tore down the drive and out of the gates._ _

__The screaming reverberated off the granite buildings, creating a thunderous echo that had Geralt recoiling. People were running this way and that, making it near impossible for the Witcher and the bard to shove their way through._ _

__Geralt slammed to a halt as the thick magic crashed over him. Every hair stood on end, his skin crawled, his stomach knotted, his medallion vibrated so violently that even Jaskier could see it reacting to the magic. He felt himself grabbing onto Jaskier to steady himself and the bard stumbled under his sudden weight._ _

__The air was heavy with it, it tasted metallic, and he could hear it. The buzzing static of magic._ _

__“Geralt?” Jaskier’s panicked voice was half lost as Geralt’s senses were overloaded._ _

__“We-we have to find a way through,” the Witcher growled._ _

__“This way,” Jaskier pulled at Geralt’s sleeve and disappeared down an alley between a bakery and a barber._ _

__Geralt rushed after him. The close walls of the buildings offered no respite from the intense thrumming of the magic, and Geralt was starting to find it hard to breathe._ _

__They emerged into the main square and that’s when the full horror of the situation hit Geralt like a punch to the gut._ _

__About a third of the performers who had been based in the square were sprawled on the ground. Men, woman, even children. Dead. There were near a dozen more convulsing on the floor with friends and family wailing and screaming over them. And there were four or five performers still on their feet, playing instruments, singing, dancing, while people around them begged them to stop, but they couldn’t._ _

__“Geralt? What do we do?” Jaskier turned to the Witcher, his terror written all over his face._ _

__“I don’t know,” Geralt rasped._ _

__He was helpless as they watched the life drain away from the afflicted performers until eventually all was quiet and still. The wail of sorrow from the people in the square swelled quickly, and Geralt could hear the same anguished cries from the surrounding streets._ _

__The magic fizzled out into nothing and the Witcher went giddy with relief._ _

__“What the fuck is happening?” Jaskier sounded so small and scared, it hurt Geralt’s heart._ _

__With a shaking arm, he brought Jaskier in close and stared intently into those shimmering blue eyes._ _

__“Jaskier, promise me that whilst we are still here, you will not play your lute, or sing. Not for anyone. I’m going to work this out and I’m going to stop whoever’s behind it, but you-you have to promise me, okay?” Geralt’s gravelly voice wavered slightly as he tried to control the rising emotion in his chest._ _

__Jaskier nodded, hand coming up to caress Geralt’s cheek but the Witcher caught his wrist and held it firm._ _

__“Promise me, Jaskier.”_ _

__“I promise.”_ _

__Geralt bundled the bard into a desperate hug, pressing his face into the crook of Jaskier’s neck, forcing himself to breathe. Just breathe._ _

__The thought of losing Jaskier panged painfully in his chest._ _

__“Come on Geralt, you know me. I abhor trouble. I don’t go seeking it deliberately,” the bard hummed lightly as he stroked soothing circles into Geralt’s back._ _

__“Still seems to find you though,” Geralt grumbled, lifting is head to scowl at the young man._ _

__“What can I say?” Jaskier quirked him a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, “At least my life isn’t boring.”_ _

__“Idiot,” Geralt grunted._ _

__“That may be, but I’m your idiot, so who’s the real winner here?” the bard cupped Geralt’s cheeks in warm hands and pressed a soft kiss to Geralt’s nose._ _

__“You missed,” the Witcher grunted._ _

__“I what?”_ _

__“You missed,” Geralt captured Jaskier’s lips in a quick, hard kiss and he felt the bard go pliant in his arms._ _

__It would be very easy to just lose himself in Jaskier, right here, right now, hide away in his warmth and his touch and his kiss and his embrace, but he drew back slowly, amber eyes dragging away from blue to settle on the aftermath of chaos._ _

__Jaskier’s fluttering heart was loud in his ears as Geralt scanned the main square. Members of the City Guard were filtering among the people, softly encouraging them to help move the bodies of their friends and loved ones to somewhere more private. Questions filled the air. Why had this happened? How had this happened? The Guards looked just as lost as Geralt felt._ _

__A woman in a dancer’s uniform, crouched over the body of a another similarly dressed woman, noticed Geralt hovering on the perimeter of the square. The Witcher’s stomach dropped as she rose unsteadily to her feet._ _

__“Witcher,” she called across the open space._ _

__The attention of more mourning people turned to Geralt with his arms still wrapped round Jaskier._ _

__“Why didn’t you stop it?” someone called._ _

__“What caused this?” shouted another._ _

__Guilt clamped down in Geralt’s chest. He didn’t have answers for these people. Not yet. But he was going to find out. Determination settled in him, and along with it, a brewing anger._ _

__More questions came. Insults, pleas, demands. These people were hurt and scared and looking for someone to blame, and as they started to advance on him, he felt Jaskier try to tug him away._ _

__“Geralt we can’t stay here. We have to go,” the bard pulled at him again._ _

__“It’s best you do, Master Witcher,” one of the City Guard came up to put himself between the townsfolk and Geralt, “Can’t do your job if they kill ya first.”_ _

__The man held such sincerity in his expression, as if he truly believed that Geralt would fix this. The unwavering faith took him by surprise. Very few people placed absolute trust in him like that, one of which was currently trying to drag him back down the alley._ _

__“We’ve got the City, Master Witcher. Best ya go and hunt down whatever’s causing all this. I’m sure the Baron’ll pay ya handsomely,” the guard nodded to him then started to quietly usher the people away._ _

__Geralt stood for a moment, mind whirring, before letting Jaskier lead him away._ _

__Having performers die definitely put a halt to Lord Arleth’s insistence of celebrating his daughter’s engagement. No doubt he’d want it resolved quickly and would pay Geralt well for the task. It was just a matter of ensuring the Baron wasn’t tempted to continue trying to host his banquets and balls, making sure the festival was cancelled until further notice, contract negotiation, and then being given free reign of the manor, the city, and the surrounding estate to carry the hunt out efficiently without interference._ _

__He would get Jaskier to bring Ludvic to him, and then once he knew what the servant knew, he would be able to get to work._ _

__Now that he had a vague plan, well, half a vague plan, Geralt felt a little less on edge, but Jaskier’s unusual silence as they made their way back to the manor house had that unease creeping in on him again._ _

__His bard was scared and trying very hard not to show it. Geralt’s heart ached for him._ _

__Tentatively, he laced their fingers together as they walked, giving Jaskier’s hand a reassuring squeeze and Jaskier let out a shaky sigh, leaning into Geralt, bringing their joined hands up to his chest and holding them there._ _

__Affection, love for the young man swelled in Geralt’s heart and he pressed a kiss to Jaskier’s temple._ _

__He could feel Jaskier relaxing slightly, and just knowing Jaskier took comfort from him, knowing that his presence was enough to ease the turbulent emotion raging in the young man’s chest, filled him with determination to protect him through all this._ _

__No matter what happened, he’d keep Jaskier safe, and the bard knew it._ _

__“What’s going on?” one of the guards by the gates asked as they passed, looking nonchalant rather than concerned._ _

__“Nothing good,” Geralt heard himself respond._ _

__Jaskier let out a shaky sigh as they approached the main doors to the manor, and once they were back in the empty entrance hall, Geralt tugged the bard into his chest and planted his lips on Jaskier’s in a kiss that had the young man whining._ _

__Jaskier’s arms curled around the back of Geralt’s neck as the Witcher’s hands found purchase on Jaskier’s hips and he walked Jaskier’s backwards until he hit a marbled pillar with a grunt._ _

__Geralt slowed their frantic mashing of mouths into long, deep kisses, breathing heavily through his nose and swallowing every soft noise that fell from the bard._ _

__“I love you,” he growled against Jaskier’s lips._ _

__“I love you,” Jaskier’s replied breathlessly._ _

__“I’ve got you,” Geralt leaned back to capture that dazzling blue gaze with his own warm amber._ _

__“You’ve got me,” Jaskier panted, hand’s gliding round the sides of Geralt’s neck and cupping both the Witcher’s cheeks gently._ _

__Geralt kissed him again, slow and soft, and Jaskier arched into him as Geralt pulled their hips flush together, pressing the bard back into the pillar._ _

__He could hear the blood thrumming under Jaskier’s skin and closed his lips over the pulse point of Jaskier’s neck._ _

__The bard shivered against him._ _

__Geralt brought his head back up to press a kiss to Jaskier’s cheek._ _

__“Now’s not really the time to ask you to fuck me, is it?” the bard hummed with a wry smile._ _

__Geralt’s low chuckle vibrated in his chest as he buried his face in Jaskier’s shoulder. He curled his arms around his bard and held him close for a moment, feeling Jaskier return his embrace tightly._ _

__“You’ll figure this out, Geralt. You always do,” Jaskier mumbled into Geralt’s neck._ _

__“Hm,” was all Geralt could bring himself to say._ _

__“Uh, Geralt?”_ _

__“Hm?”_ _

__Jaskier tapped his shoulder, pushing at him slightly to encourage him to turn around. Geralt let his arms slip from around Jaskier as he glanced over his shoulder._ _

__“Tarrin!” he gruffed, quickly releasing the bard and turning to face the servant._ _

__Tarrin was wringing his hands and casting quick looks about him._ _

__“Master Geralt,” he said quietly, “Ludvic has asked to see you. He says he has something important to tell you. I’ve been looking for you for hours.”_ _

__“Where is he?” Geralt demanded, straightening up and rolling his shoulders._ _

__“In his quarters, sir. He seemed… distressed, sir. I’ve never seen him like this before,” Tarrin’s eyes were blown wide with worry._ _

__“Take us to him,” Geralt set his jaw._ _

__Tarrin gave him a curt nod and took off towards a door just right of the grand staircase. Jaskier followed quickly after Geralt as the Witcher stormed behind the servant._ _

__“Ludvic?” Jaskier asked, struggling to keep up._ _

__“Last night… he told me to stop you from playing and then to leave. He knows something Jaskier. He knows what’s going on, and why,” Geralt grunted._ _

__Tarrin led them through another door that opened into the servant’s wing of the manor. Not quite as lavishly decorated, but still exuberant of the Baron’s wealth._ _

__They came to a stop by a pine wood door but before Tarrin could say anything, Geralt yanked him back and dropped his weight, skin prickling, senses alert, as he noticed the door was ajar._ _

__He reached for his steel sword, but his fingers closed around nothing and he cursed himself. Both blades were still in his and Jaskier’s room._ _

__“Geralt?” Jaskier had put himself between the startled servant and the Witcher to keep Tarrin out of harm’s way._ _

__Geralt pressed a finger to his lips, eyes connecting with Jaskier’s briefly before he turned his acute senses on the room. He couldn’t hear anything, and there were the scents of at least four other people besides Ludvic, all swirling together with the unmistakable stench of fear. And there was something else, something that brought a growl into his throat. The coppery tang of blood._ _

__Very quietly, he pushed the door. It bumped against something and swung back towards him. Geralt pushed the door open again and peeked is head into the room. The door was catching on an upturned chair. He lifted his eyes to scan the rest of the room and his gut knotted._ _

__What furniture Ludvic did have had been strewn across the room along with books, papers, even clothing. The small bed was rumpled, and he could see the spatterings of blood, still fairly fresh, on the flagstone by the bed._ _

__There had been a fight in this room, a struggle, and it had happened recently._ _

__The Witcher stepped into the room, face set in a deep frown. Jaskier followed him in, fingers fidgeting, tension in his shoulders. Tarrin hovered in the doorway, alarm quickly cancelling out his nerves._ _

__“What happened?” the servant squeaked._ _

__“I think Ludvic’s been… taken,” Geralt kicked a fractured drawer in frustration._ _

__Tarrin flinched._ _

__“Think Tarrin. Did Ludvic say anything to you? About why he wanted to speak to Geralt?” Jaskier turned to the servant, hands on hips, eyes dark._ _

__“No, sir! Just that it was urgent. Important,” Tarrin looked guilty that he couldn’t offer them anything more._ _

__“Fuck,” Geralt spat._ _

__“What the fuck is going on here?” Jaskier flailed in exasperation._ _

__“I think it’s time we spoke to the Baron,” the Witcher grit his teeth together._ _

__“You think he can help?” the bard implored._ _

__“At this point? I don’t even fucking care. I just need someone to shout at while I try to come up with a new plan.”_ _

__“Geralt-”_ _

__“Probably doesn’t know anything but at least I can scare him into cancelling his stupid fucking celebrations,” the Witcher growled at nothing in particular._ _

__“Geralt-” Jaskier tried again._ _

__“I don’t know why this is happening, or where the magic is coming from but if I can stop more people from dying, then it’s a step in the right fucking direction.”_ _

__“Geralt!”_ _

__Geralt spun to face the bard, breathing hard. It was then he realised that he was shaking, his fists were clenched. Tarrin was cowering by the doorframe. His flicked his gaze to meet Jaskier’s and tried to let the soft expression on the bard’s face calm his rising anger._ _

__Jaskier stepped into Geralt’s space quietly and took his trembling hands in his own, squeezing slightly._ _

__“Okay,” the young man blinked slowly at the Witcher, “Let’s go see the Baron. But maybe let me do the talking.”_ _

__The smile twitching Jaskier’s lips forced Geralt to let out a heavy breath. Jaskier looked tired, and Geralt was reminded that his bard hadn't slept. He couldn't imagine what was going in inside the young man's head right now, but his heart bled when he realised that despite having to deal with everything that was happening, Jaskier was still taking the time to look after him too._ _

__Slowly, he nodded._ _

__“Right. Good,” Jaskier spun on the spot and marched away, one hand still laced with Geralt’s, pulling the Witcher with him._ _

__He was vaguely aware of Jaskier asking Tarrin where they could find Lord Arleth but kept his focus on the feel of Jaskier’s hand in his, the grounding warmth, the promised comfort. Letting himself need those things, letting himself feel the vulnerability, whereas before he would have just shut it down and pushed it away._ _

__For all his stoic intent, Geralt felt safe with Jaskier. It had taken him a long time to open up to the bard, to let himself feel properly for the first time in a long time, to understand the emotions he had been repressing for years and years. Jaskier’s patience had been liberating and now he wouldn’t go back to how things had been before meeting the bard for anything. The other Witcher’s had teased him, telling him he’d gone soft, but Geralt knew he was stronger, a better Witcher because of Jaskier. Being able to empathise made him more protective, made him fight harder, for the suffering people, for the monsters who’d done no wrong. And he had fallen in love. Being truly happy like he had never been before. No, Geralt wouldn’t got back to how things were for the world._ _

__Jaskier’s reassuring touch, even in just the connection of their hands, was a reminder that he was allowed to feel afraid too._ _

__Not quite sure where they were going, Geralt trusted the bard to lead him through the corridors and halls until they stopped by a huge set of double oak doors._ _

__“The library,” Jaskier hummed, “Tarrin said the Baron takes lunch in here most days. If he’s not here, we’re to try the drawing room.”_ _

__Geralt gave him a nod and again Jaskier squeezed his hand._ _

__“You okay?” the bard asked softly._ _

__“I’m better now,” the Witcher gazed at him fondly and a slight blush spread across Jaskier’s cheeks._ _

__“Come on, you giant sap,” Jaskier mused._ _

__As Jaskier went to push the door open, Geralt froze, pulling him back and slapping a hand over his mouth to stifle his squeak of surprise._ _

__“Lord Arleth is in there, but he’s not alone,” the Witcher mumbled in Jaskier’s ear, releasing him and then nudging the door open a crack._ _

__He couldn’t see much at this angle. Shelves upon shelves of leather-bound books lining the walls. He shuffled slightly and then he spotted them. The Baron, and Lord Tallis, talking in hushed voices by the far window._ _

__He dared to creep forwards slightly, trying to listen in to their conversation._ _

__“-but it’s not enough, she needs more,” Lord Tallis hissed, his posture riddled with tension._ _

__“I’m aware, but she must be patient. This has been in the planning for months and I will not have her screw it up because she couldn’t wait a little longer,” Lord Arleth growled back._ _

__“She knows what she is doing. This is our last chance to break this curse and-”_ _

__“Don’t you think I know that?” the Baron’s voice dipped dangerously low, “Do you have any idea how many times I’ve tried? The things I’ve sacrificed? When your friend Genrdy suggested it, I thought the gods had finally answered my prayers. But we are this close to it all falling apart.”_ _

__“You were the one who insisted on inviting him. You had to know he’d bring that fucking Witcher with him,” Lord Tallis snorted._ _

__Geralt’s blood ran cold._ _

__“She asked for him specifically. Adamant that it wouldn’t work without him.”_ _

__“Just say the word and I’ll stop that Witcher from interfering.”_ _

__“You’ll do nothing. He’s already suspicious. Just… tell her to give me a little more time. She’ll have what she needs. I’ve come too far now to not deliver on my promises,” the baron sighed, running a hand through his greying hair._ _

__Geralt backed away from the door, blood thundering in his ears, mouth suddenly very dry, and his chest constricting painfully._ _

__“Jaskier? We need-” he turned to the bard but Jaskier wasn’t there._ _

__Panic gripped him, choked him, as he frantically looked up and down the corridor. The only trace of his bard was his flowery scent._ _

__A wave of nausea curdled in his gut._ _

__“Fuck!”_ _


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one took me so long. There's been a lot going on and I haven't had the time to write that I would like.
> 
> As always, feedback and comments are greatly appreciated.

Witchers feel fear. 

No matter what people believed, being stripped of humanity didn’t turn them into unfeeling monsters. It just made it easier to become numb to emotion, to push away and repress anything that could be perceived as weakness. 

Geralt feels fear.

He learned to control it, along with every other feeling that would creep up on him. Facing off with whatever monster he was hunting, staring into the eyes of death, of course he felt fear. But he didn’t let it overwhelm him. Didn’t let it distract him. He forced it down and got on with his job.

It wasn’t until he met Jaskier that he had started to allow himself to properly feel again. The bard had stirred many emotions in him since that fateful day in Posada. Annoyance, frustration, anger, confusion, jealousy, joy, pride, love. And fear. Not for his own life, but for the life of his foolhardy bard. For the idea of him hurting or being in pain. For the thought of losing him.

As he raced down a tapestry adorned corridor, following the faint scent of orange blossom and sandalwood, lavender and fresh parchment, it was fear threatening to choke him. It stabbed through his chest and twisted in his gut, and he sent a silent prayer to any god who was listening for his bard to have just wondered off, that no harm had come to him.

He practically crashed into Dania as she emerged from a room with a tray of crockery. 

The serving woman squeaked and Geralt was quick enough to steady her before she dropped her precious load.

“Master Geralt! You gave me a right good fright!” she puffed.

“Jaskier,” Geralt growled.

“Oh, uh, he-I passed him just down the hall not long ago. He had a strange look on his face, sir. And when I greeted him, he didn’t respond,” Dania blinked rapidly at the Witcher.

“Where was he going?”

“Back to your bedchamber I think, sir.”

Their bedchamber? Geralt frowned but then his face fell. After the death of the drummer, Jaskier had returned his lute to the safety of their room. 

Geralt’s blood ran cold.

He pushed passed Dania, ignoring her shout of, “Is everything alright, Master Geralt?” and ran as fast as his legs would carry him. 

Blood thrummed in his ears and he took the steps up to the next floor two at a time. 

“Ah, Witcher. I’ve been looking for you. Do you have a moment?” a voice rang out from below him, and Geralt skid to a halt, whipping his head around.

Lord Gendry stood at the bottom of the steps, a smile on his face that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“No,” Geralt gruffed, moving off again.

“I really must insist. It is a matter of great importance,” the young Lord started up the steps behind the Witcher.

Geralt rounded on him, stopping Lord Gendry in his tracks.

“Insist all you like. I know there’s something going on here and I swear to the gods that if Jaskier isn’t alright when I find him, I’m coming for you first,” he snarled, then thundered away from the noble.

He was very aware of Lord Gendry’s eyes boring into his back, but he didn’t care.

As he approached the bedchamber, the merry lilting of a lute sent a spike of alarm through him.

Geralt threw open the door and the wave of magic hit him in a thick cloud. 

Jaskier was standing at the foot of the bed, grey in the face, and hunched over his lute as he played. His blue eyes were wild, and his fingers flitted quickly across the strings. There was a rigid tension in his body and Geralt rushed over to him.

“Jaskier. Stop!”

“I’m fine. I’m fine, Geralt. I have to play,” Jaskier’s voice sounded strange. Thin. Reedy.

“Jask, please! Stop playing,” Geralt tried again, heart in his throat, hands coming up to try and take the instrument from him. 

“I can’t stop. Can’t stop. I have to play,” Jaskier jerked away from him, his playing on the verge of manic.

Geralt grabbed at the lute. Jaskier practically curled himself around it, gripping the polished wood so tightly his knuckles turned white, and still trying to pluck at the strings as Geralt wrestled it from him.

“No, no, no. I have to play! Geralt. It hurts. It hurts. Please. I have to play!” Jaskier clung to his lute desperately, tears in his eyes, his whole body trembling.

Feeling wretched, Geralt tore the instrument from Jaskier and dropped it on the bed. Jaskier wailed, trying to throw himself at it, writhing and convulsing in Geralt’s arms as the Witcher restrained him.

“Stop Jaskier. Please stop,” he begged, voice breaking.

“No, no. I have to play. I have to-it hurts,” the bard sobbed, fighting Geralt with everything he had as he tried desperately to reach his lute.

Jaskier’s knees buckled and Geralt sank to the floor with him, yanking him into his lap and keeping him trapped against his chest. He could taste Jaskier’s fear and distress, the sour scent of his bard in pain wreathing around him. 

The magic still hummed in the air, prickling along his skin, raising the hairs on the nape of his neck, but it was lessening.

“Make it stop! Make it stop! Geralt, please,” Jaskier clawed at his own chest, his attempts to free himself weakening, “It hurts. It-I-I have to play.”

“I’m sorry, Jaskier. I’m so sorry,” Geralt pressed his nose into Jaskier’s hair, the heat emitting from his bard was almost unbearable, and his rabbit-quick heartbeat was loud in Geralt’s ears.

The young man became still, apart from the shivers that wracked his body.

“I have to play,” Jaskier wept, “I have to play. Have to-to-t- _toss a coin to your Witcher, O’ valley of plenty. _”__

__Geralt stiffened with dread. The magic spiked again as Jaskier started to sing._ _

__“ _Toss a coin to your Witcher, a friend of humanity. _”___ _

____Geralt shifted Jaskier so that he could look at him. The bard was pale, sweaty, and as he stared up at Geralt, those beautiful blue eyes were bright with terror._ _ _ _

____“Jaskier, you have to stop,” Geralt cupped his cheek gently, his voice hoarse, his heart aching._ _ _ _

____“ _T-toss a coin to your Witcher, _” fresh tears streamed down Jaskier’s face.___ _ _ _

______“Fuck,” he didn’t know what to do. Geralt couldn’t think. Panic froze his mind. The magic in the air was making him fuzzy and nauseous and-_ _ _ _ _ _

______Magic._ _ _ _ _ _

______A flare of hope panged in his chest. He took his hand away from Jaskier’s cheek and arranged his fingers to cast the _Axii _Sign. He hated doing this, especially to Jaskier, but if this didn’t work, he didn’t know what else to do and he’d be forced to watch the love of his life perform himself to death, however long that would take. The thought brought bile into the back of his throat.___ _ _ _ _ _

________The magic rippled along his arm and a pressure built in his fingers until a faint green light danced in the air._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Jaskier, you don’t have to sing, or play. You can stop. It’s time to stop now,” Geralt forced his voice not to wobble._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Time to stop now,” Jaskier parroted, eyes going glassy and his body falling limp in Geralt’s arms._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Geralt went lightheaded with relief as the magic in the air dissipated. Jaskier closed his eyes, breath coming in huge, shaky gulps._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Letting go of the Sign, Geralt wrapped his arms tightly around his bard, cradling him to his chest, feeling Jaskier’s hot breaths against his neck as the young man shook with exhaustion._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Geralt,” Jaskier rasped, his fingers curling into Geralt’s shirt._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Hush, it’s okay. You’re okay Jaskier. I’ve got you,” the Witcher nuzzled against Jaskier’s forehead._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________He shuffled around, being careful not to disturb Jaskier too much, until his back was pressed against the bed._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________He stroked the pad of his thumb back and forth across Jaskier’s cheek, just holding him close as the young man’s heartbeat returned to its steady thud, his breathing evening out._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“I love you, Geralt,” Jaskier whimpered, a shudder rolling through him._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“I love you too. You’ve no idea how much, Jaskier,” the Witcher mumbled into the bard’s hair, “Just rest now. I’ve got you.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Tucked safely against Geralt’s chest, beyond scared and worn-out, it wasn’t long before Jaskier fell asleep._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Geralt wanted to weep. To scream and cry until he made himself sick. Whatever was going on here, whatever magic was being used, it had claimed his bard, and Geralt had no idea what was going to happen when Jaskier woke up._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Whatever was compelling him to perform was causing him pain if he didn’t. Geralt couldn’t just let him play or sing either, and prolonged use of _Axii _wasn’t an option. Two different types of influential magic battling for control? It would rip Jaskier apart.___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Geralt glanced down at the bard in his arms, looking so young in sleep, soft and peaceful, curled up against his chest._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________He remembered the first time he had held Jaskier through the night. It had been a few months after they met. The days were getting cold and the nights colder still. His recent contracts hadn’t been particularly lucrative and what coin they did have came from the meagre earnings Jaskier had to work hard for in the stingy taverns of northern Aedirn. Unable to afford a room for the night, they had set up camp in a sheltered grove lined with conifers. Jaskier had been shivering in his bedroll, despite the crackling fire and being buried under every single blanket they brought with them. Geralt could hear his teeth chattering, his sharp shallow breaths, the way his heart stuttered in his chest. The bard was an idiot, but Geralt found himself caring enough to not want him to freeze to death. Against his better judgement, he slipped under the blankets behind Jaskier, pressing himself flush against the young man’s back and curled his arms around him. Jaskier had whispered his thanks, and the tremors wracking his body subsided as Geralt’s warmth seeped into him. The bard fell asleep quickly but Geralt remained awake all night, trying to puzzle out the strange, unfamiliar emotion blooming in his chest._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Eventually, holding each other as they slept happened because they wanted to, rather than out of necessity or survival, and Geralt quickly lost track of when affection turned into something more. The best part of falling asleep with Jaskier in his arms, was waking up with Jaskier in his arms. Hazy blue eyes and soft smiles and tender caresses and loving words. Warm and secure and together._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________The idea that Jaskier felt safe enough with him to be so vulnerable, left Geralt’s head swimming and heart aching every time. Jaskier trusted him and drew comfort from him, and Geralt was always left wondering how the fuck he had gotten so lucky as to have the bard in his life._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________He was a Witcher. This wasn’t supposed to happen to him, and yet, it had. And every time he settled down with the bard in his arms, their legs tangled together, his heat and weight and scent, that familiarity, that sense of being home, Geralt would promise himself that he’d protect Jaskier and make sure there was joy in everything he did._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Looking at his bard now, the horror of the situation crashed into him, and he pressed his forehead against Jaskier’s. How the fuck was he supposed to protect him now?_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________He hadn’t been aware of falling asleep, but the next thing he knew, he was jolting awake at the loud banging against the door._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________An ache ran down his spine from his awkward sleeping position, his arms slightly numb from Jaskier’s weight, but his bard was still tucked into him, eyes closed, breathing softly, so his pains didn’t matter._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“Master Geralt? Master Jaskier?” a voice came through the door, “Are you in there?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“T-Tarrin?” the Witcher blinked sleep out of his eyes._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________The door cracked open and the young servant poked his head into the room._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“My Lord Arleth is asking when Master Jaskier will be coming down to the great hall for the banquet. The guests have started arriving,” Tarrin rattled off, panting for breath._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Geralt set his jaw, eyes darkening, a flare of anger burning through his core._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“Master Jaskier is sick and will not be performing tonight,” Geralt growled, voice like thunder._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________He felt Jaskier stir in his arms and he grit his teeth._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“Oh, uh,” Tarrin flicked his eyes to the bard in the Witcher’s lap, “I’m very sorry to hear that, sir. I will pass on your message, of course. Is there anything else I can help you with?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Geralt was about to send him away when a thought struck him._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“Yes. Yes, there is. The Baron’s chambers. Where are they?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“Sir?” the servant stammered._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“It’s part of my hunt. There’s something I need to investigate. What’s happening with the performers, what happened to Ludvic, it’s tied to Arleth and I need to find out how,” Geralt gruffed._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Tarrin nodded slowly, his eyes wide, his lips pulled in an unhappy slant._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“At the end of the corridor is a door leading to the servant’s stair way. Follow it up to the next floor and then two doors down on the right is Lord Arleth’s bedchamber. His study is the next room over but there’s a door connecting the two,” he husked._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“Thank you, Tarrin. Not a word about this to anyone,” Geralt gave the servant a nod._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Tarrin blinked rapidly at the Witcher, then slunk away, closing the door behind him._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“Geralt?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Geralt glanced down at Jaskier who was looking up at him with tired blue eyes._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“Hey,” the Witcher hummed, biting the inside of his cheek, stroking his fingers through Jaskier’s hair, “You scared the shit out of me.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“How do you think I feel?” Jaskier’s lips twitched, a sparkle of humour in his eyes, but it faded quickly, “Sorry, Geralt.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“What… what happened? One moment you were with me, the next…”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“I don’t really know. I just suddenly… had to play my lute. It was the only thing I could think about, the only thing I knew. It scorched through me. I felt like I was… I was burning on the inside and the only thing that made the pain stop was playing…” Jaskier pulled a face, “How did you get me to stop?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“I used _Axii _. I had no choice,” Geralt’s stomach churned.___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“Thanks,” the bard sighed, letting his head bump against Geralt’s shoulder, his hand coming up to rest over the Witcher’s heart._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“Do you feel it now? The need to play? Or sing?” Geralt asked tentatively._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Jaskier shook his head, pressing his face into Geralt’s neck as he stifled a yawn._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“You should try and get more sleep,” Geralt rumbled, his heart aching as he looked at his weary bard._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“What? And let you have all the fun?” a smirk pulled at Jaskier’s lips, “Snooping around the Barron’s chambers. Two pairs of eyes are better than one…" a slight frown creased Jaskier’s face. "Why though?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“Lord Arleth was talking to Lord Tallis in the library. Something about a curse… and a woman,” Geralt ground his teeth._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“There’s something you’re not telling me,” Jaskier shifted in Geralt’s arms and the Witcher cursed the young man for knowing him so well._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________He couldn’t bring himself to meet his gaze. Jaskier had enough to worry about right now. How could Geralt tell his bard that he had been brought here as part of it all?_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“Geralt?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“Lord Gendry is involved too. Gods only know who else,” it wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth, and Jaskier knew it. Geralt could see it in his eyes, in the subtle twitch in his expression._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________The bard sighed, but he let it go. His unwavering trust in his Witcher stoking the embers of guilt in Geralt’s chest._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“Come on then, dear Witcher,” Jaskier sat up in Geralt’s lap and Geralt helped him to his feet._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________The bard’s eyes flicked to the lute on the bed. A pang shot through Geralt’s chest. He cupped Jaskier’s cheeks in gentle hands and captured his mouth in a soft kiss._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Jaskier’s eyes fluttered shut, his own hands fisting into the front of Geralt’s shirt, a soft noise falling from him as their lips moved together._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________The Witcher pulled the bard into a tight embrace, pressing his face into Jaskier’s shoulder and the young man curled into him._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“You’re going to be okay,” Geralt grumbled._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“I’m with you, aren’t I?” Jaskier leaned back to rub noses with Geralt._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________There was the flicker of uncertainty in those blue eyes, and Geralt knew his bard was still afraid, but he was putting on a brave front as usual, and affection for the man in his arms burned through him._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________He brushed his lips against Jaskier’s cheek then reluctantly let his arms drop to his sides._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________A new sense of purpose bloomed in his chest as he retrieved his swords._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“You really think those are necessary?” Jaskier indicated the blades and rubbed at the back of his neck absently._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Geralt shrugged._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“Hopefully. If there’s something to kill then I can end whatever the hell is going on here,” he knew that was a very blinkered way of looking at it, and it probably wasn’t going to be that easy, but it made him feel a little better so that’s what he was running with._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Jaskier just gave him a nod, fidgeting with his fingers._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“Come on, bard,” Geralt hummed, forcing away the desire to just bundle Jaskier into the bed and let him sleep._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Keeping a close eye on the young man, he led Jaskier out into the hall and followed it to the end. A narrow doorway was tucked behind a huge potted plume of ferns, and the window opposite looked out towards the rolling forests of the estate._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Geralt paused a moment to listen. He could hear the merriment of the arriving guests faintly below them. He could hear someone shuffling about in a room upstairs. He could hear Jaskier’s rapid heartbeat and shallow breathing._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“Everything okay?” the bard asked quietly._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“Hm,” the Witcher tilted his head slightly, “I don’t think the Barron is in his room. We should be able to get in, have a look around, and get out again before anyone knows we were there.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“And what is it we’re looking for exactly?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“Anything out of the ordinary. Anything relating to magic or a curse or… or something,” Geralt clenched his jaw._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Very quietly, the two of them made their way up the servant’s stairway to the next floor. Geralt moved quickly and lightly, low to the ground. Jaskier was heavier footed but managed to keep the noise down, even when he tripped on the last step and clung onto Geralt to stop himself from crashing to the ground. Geralt righted him with a roll of his eyes and Jaskier apologised with a sheepish smile._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Geralt couldn’t help but smirk at the bard, but then drew his steel sword carefully and approached the second door on the right. He pressed his ear against the solid wood, but the room on the other side was silent._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Tentatively, he pushed the door open._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Lord Arleth’s bedchamber was very grand. A mahogany four poster bed sat against the wall to their left and the foot of the bed inhabited the centre of the room. Along the wall to their right were three other doors, assuming that they led to the washroom, the study, and the main corridor respectively. A large window was set into the far wall and bracketing it either side was a wardrobe and a dresser. There was an immaculate portrait of the Barron and his wife hanging just beside the mirror of the dresser, and the wall by the bed displayed several paintings of Lady Vevira._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________All dark, expensive, woods. All lush velvets and silks. All too fanciful for Geralt’s tastes._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“Well, it’s clear the Barron likes to splash his coin,” Jaskier mused flippantly, wandering into the bedchamber and taking it all in with a graceful turn._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“Just get searching,” Geralt grumbled._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Sheathing his swords, he made his way over to the dresser, opening and closing jewellery boxes, peeking into the drawers, keeping his ears trained on Jaskier. Just in case._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________The bard was rummaging around in a chest at the foot of the bed, making comments on garments he found and letters he scanned, but not really finding anything of importance._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Geralt moved on to the wardrobe. It was stuffed with exquisite dresses and fine robes. There were a few boxes along the bottom, but most contained more jewellery and trinkets._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Whatever the Barron was up to, he clearly didn’t conduct his business in his bedchamber._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“Uh, Geralt?” came Jaskier’s voice and the Witcher pulled his head out of the wardrobe to see his bard hovering in the doorway of the study._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Geralt joined him quickly and peered over his shoulder._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Lord Arleth’s study was crammed with bookshelves, and a desk sat in the middle of the room, littered with papers. The door to the corridor was dwarfed by the towering shelves and the only light came from an oil lamp in the corner of the room. But what hit Geralt was the smell. Singed wood and sulphur. It made his nose wrinkle and his throat tingle. He spotted scorch marks along the floor which confirmed his suspicion. Someone had opened a portal in here, more than once it seemed, and by the prevalence of the stench, it had been opened recently. And when a portal was involved, that usually meant a mage wasn’t far behind._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________He recalled Ludvic telling him that the Barron didn’t associate with mages, but this evidence clearly suggested otherwise. An unsettling feeling of apprehension settled in Geralt’s gut._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Jaskier was leafing through some of the papers on the desk, pausing every now and then to flick his eyes across the pages._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“Found anything?” Geralt asked, carefully studying the titles embossed onto the spines of the books._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“I don’t know… this looks familiar but…” Jaskier brought over a small collection of correspondence and presented them, “They’re all in some sort of… code, I think. They’re all signed by a Priest of the Eternal Fire, but this here, this symbol, I can’t quite put my finger on it.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Geralt frowned at the small sigil stamped in the top right corner of the letters._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“I know what that is but… that can’t be right,” Geralt grumbled._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“Care to elaborate?” Jaskier quirked a brow at him._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“It’s the mark of a fertility cult,” noticing Jaskier’s expression, Geralt blanched, “it was a few years ago. Priests of the Eternal Fire associated with the cult were trying to get hold of Witchers to… study our infertility and find out if there was a way to reverse what the mutations did to us. There isn’t. Lambert and I rescued the three Witchers they were holding captive.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“So… what the fuck is Lord Arleth doing, messing around with this cult?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“I don’t know. And I don’t like it,” Geralt fisted a hand in his hair, more questions being added to his ever-growing unanswered list, “Keep looking. There’s got to be more here.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Jaskier continued his searching of the desk. Geralt walked along the bookshelves. There was nothing out of the ordinary that he could see. Many books on local history, political history, maps, the odd alchemy volume for simple herbal remedies, some about philosophy, others about sociology. Just a very ordinary collection of books one would expect to find in the study of a high Lord._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________His growing frustration sat heavily in his gut. As he turned away from the shelf to see if Jaskier had found anything in the desk drawers, he noticed something. A disturbance in the dust along the shelf as if a book had been removed and then replaced recently. Geralt narrowed his eyes at the volume. ‘The Obituaries of Keymarsh Estate’ by Rowand Bandergraw. Not a particularly remarkable book at first inspection. Leather bound, hand-stitched binding, 3rd edition by the looks of it. It wasn’t until he went to slide it from the shelf that he saw the folded piece of parchment that had been tucked between this volume and its neighbour. He took the parchment out carefully and opened it up._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________It looked as if someone had copied a page from a book. The untidy scrawl linked together with diagrams and symbols, and he was struggling to make sense of it. The writing didn’t read from left to right and he was trying to work out whether it read clockwise around the page or if it jumped from section to section. His time spent studying the various volumes and scrolls back in the libraries of Kaer Morhen told him that this was a spell of some kind, and a powerful one at that. The four symbols in each corner of the page were different variations of the same pattern and he knew that this spell required a huge amount of power to cast. A celestial event or a natural anomaly or…_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Geralt went weak at the knee as a piece of this puzzle finally slotted into place._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________The week-long celebrations, the huge number of performers, the Baron’s insistence that the entertainment continued despite people dropping dead around him._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________The amount of energy being produced by that many creative individuals in the exact same place at the exact same time would generate a pocket of power so focused, so intense, that tapping into it would be enough to cast the most complex spells._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________The magic that hung in the air as the entertainers performed and were then drained of their lives as they performed themselves to death, it was fuelling whatever this spell was meant for. It was an old, dark magic, forbidden by the Brotherhood of Mages because of its sacrificial nature._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Geralt frantically tried to understand the scribbles on the piece of parchment but his mind was working too fast for him to concentrate properly._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________A spell that required substantial energy to cast. A curse of some description, gods new what it was, who it was on and why it had been placed. A connection to a fertility cult who were known for trying to reverse unnaturally caused infertility. A missing servant who obviously had been taken for revealing too much. And a bard, his bard, who was somehow important to all of this._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________The Baron had invited Jaskier to this celebration, had made him sole bard of the weeklong banquets and balls. Ludvic had told him to take Jaskier and leave, not any of the other musicians, not the drummer who had been playing like a mad man, Jaskier. Lord Tallis had acted very oddly around Jaskier, trying to keep him in his fiancé’s company. And this ‘she’ the Baron had mentioned, who had requested Jaskier’s presence specifically._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________A horrible, awful feeling coiled tight in Geralt’s chest. He should have listened to Ludvic. He needed to get Jaskier out of here, take him far away from the influence of the magic and then, once he was safe, Geralt could come back and work out what the fuck was actually going on._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________"Geralt..." Jaskier sounded strained._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Geralt stuffed the parchment into his pocket and spun round to the bard. Jaskier was practically bent double over the desk, fingers curled over the edge of the lacquered wood tightly. Geralt went cold._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“Jaskier?” he growled, lurching over to him, “Jask?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Jaskier let out a long, low noise of distress._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“I can feel it Geralt. In-in my head and my chest,” the young man grit out, face screwed up, arms shaking from how tightly he was gripping the edge of the desk._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“Fight it Jaskier. You have to fight it,” Geralt begged him._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“I can’t. Geralt,” Jaskier’s blue eyes shimmered with fear and Geralt felt his heart break, “I have to play. I have to play.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________The Witcher’s usually slow pulse was thudding in his ears as he grabbed at Jaskier to stop him bolting from the room._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“No, no, no, no. It hurts. Geralt, please. I have to play,” the bard twisted and writhed in his hold, clawing desperately as the strong hand keeping him trapped._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Geralt’s stomach flipped and, in his desperation, he cast _Axii _again, the green glow flashing over Jaskier’s pale face.___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________“No, you don’t. You don’t have to play or sing, Jaskier,” his voice climbed an octave._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Jaskier gazed at him for a moment but then his eyes rolled back into his head and a stream of blood started to trickle from his nose. The strangled scream that left his lips brought bile to the back of Geralt’s throat._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________“Shit. Shit,” the Witcher panicked as Jaskier collapsed and it was all he could do to catch him in time before he hit the floor._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________He laid Jaskier down as gently as he could while the bard jerked and twitched, and he placed his hands on the young man’s shoulders._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________“Jaskier,” Geralt gave him a shake, “Fuck, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Come back to me, please!”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________“Now, you boys aren’t supposed to be in here,” a low female voice came from behind him. It sounded disappointed, like how a mother would scold her child._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Geralt whipped round and his heart dropped._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________In the doorway leading out to the corridor, stood a tall, elegant, blonde woman, with sharp, angular features and eyes that were almost silver in colour. The skirt of her long mauve dress pooled around her feet and the flared sleeves flowed like water as she placed her hands on her hips._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________“Fighting fire with fire, Witcher. You should know better. It’s a good thing I came along when I did. Can’t have the bard dying yet. I still need him,” she lilted, voice honey smooth._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________“You,” Geralt half rose to his feet, keeping one hand on his shuddering bard, the other reaching for his steel blade, “you’re the mage behind all this.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________The woman gave a little curtsy, her painted lips twisting in a sneer._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________“And you’re the Witcher who keeps trying to get in my way.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________She gave a nod of her head and the floorboards creaked behind Geralt._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________As the Witcher turned around, Lord Gendry sprang from the Barron’s bedchamber and cracked him across the skull with the pommel of his sword._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Geralt’s vision flashed white with pain and he crumpled to the ground. A boot connected with his face and the last thing he saw before consciousness slipped from him, was the mage leaning over his bard._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _


End file.
